


Allegiance

by Robin_Mask



Series: Allegiance [1]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Dubious Consent, Forced Marriage, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Mpreg, Politics, Romance, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-13
Updated: 2014-04-01
Packaged: 2018-01-05 13:19:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 33
Words: 201,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1094316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Robin_Mask/pseuds/Robin_Mask
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thor could not deny the atrocities that his brother had committed. It seemed to many that there could be no forgiveness, but Thor would fight for his brother's redemption. He would endure the political marriage and the oncoming war, because they needed Loki. They needed him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This work is set after "Thor" and "Avengers Assemble", but immediately before "Thor: The Dark World".
> 
> It is essentially an alternate timeline.
> 
> * * * 
> 
> It was written some years ago, so I do beg people not to judge my current work by this piece.

# Chapter One

****

“Well, this _is_ a surprise.”

 

Loki looked towards Thor with a mischievous smile.

 

It was almost as if nothing out of the norm had ever occurred, as if it were the Loki of old looking back at him. There was an undeniable sense of darkness to those green eyes, but they held a focus and determination that had yet to be broken down and melted away. They held anger and pain, emotions that had been with Loki for as long as anyone could remember. The only change was the slight tiredness to them that signalled something – whatever that may be – _had_ broken.

 

Loki had lost the most important thing to him: his pride. The silver-tongued, Machiavellian man had been _arguably_ manipulated and brainwashed into actions that were against his will. Thor still debated the truth to this claim. The one gift Loki cherished above all else – the one thing that he could trulycall his own – had been taken from him. It had been a cruel blow to his ego. How often was an Asgardian prince threatened into submission? Not only that, but he had lost the love of their father, the one person to whom all this had been for . . . fears of abandonment realised, the suspicions of rejection actualised . . . did he even realise that he had been the one to make his worst fears come true?

 

It had not been entirely his brother’s fault, but the initial wanton attempt at genocide of the Jotun race had been his conscious decision, it had not been the choice or influence of any other mind but his own. The sceptre also only magnified emotions, it couldn’t _create_ them, and so his feelings of anger and violence had been there from the start. The question was whether he was made that way by the feelings of inadequacy or born that way due to his race. Had their father created this man before him or was it this man’s blood that made him nothing but a monster?

 

“Look who has dared to deign me with his presence.”

 

“This isn’t a game, Loki!”

 

“No? Then enlighten me. What is it? It seems to me that you – Thor _Odinson –_ have played one _spectacular_ game. You fought with your men in a team, you stood up against your opponent fearlessly, and now you have captured the king piece. The problem is, no one ever stops to think what happens to the captured king when the game is at an end. What _ever_ will you do with me?”

 

It was true that he had been captured. He had stood tall as a king and fallen as a man, but he was gracious in his defeat. Thor had thought their father would be proud, that his son had taken defeat like a true hero, but it seemed he would rather have that Loki had died upon the battlefield. The man before him no longer looked a king at all. He was regal, yes, but he was a man both lost and yet found, a man imprisoned in what had once been his home. He lived for one reason only: Frigga.

 

Frigga alone had defended her son. 

 

It seemed that Loki did not care. He sat upon the length of the bench inside his cell with an all too casual look, with legs spread and hands clasped lazily in his lap. His back was slouched, and his hair was now a mess and loose, no longer slicked back, and the power and passion of his facial expressions had been washed away with defeat. Thor stood before him tall and wondered who his brother had become. This was the man who had once owned three sets of decorated armour for every set of Thor’s, the man who would pride himself on his appearance to the point of adopting local attire even when he was invisible to the locals, and yet here he was: defeated.

 

“You are no king!” Thor cried. “You are the man who merely borrowed the throne of and twisted it to suit his purpose! The only true king is our father, Odin Borson, the Allfather! You will show him respect!”

 

“He? A king? You never used to be the funny one, Thor.”

 

“I mean it, Loki, you will not disrespect our father! It was he who grieved the most when you were gone. The mourning period nearly sent him back into the Odinsleep, and the celebratory feasts for your wake were dimmed by the sadness in his eyes. He told the most stories of your escapades, and yet every word from his mouth was filled with pain. He loved you . . . perhaps most of all.”

 

“He never loved me! He admitted as much once you were gone! I was nothing but a _pawn_ ; I was a _thing_ that was meant only to further his political agenda! I was worthless to one father and a tool to another!”

 

“That is a lie! He loved you, he saw you as a beacon of hope!”

 

“The old fool saw me as nothing but a _beast_!”

 

Loki stood tall and came before Thor. He was clearly unafraid of his elder brother; he knew that the older man’s love would prevent him from harming Loki in any way other than what was necessary. They had come to blows whilst growing up, with sometimes Loki winning by trickery and sometimes Thor winning by sheer force, but neither would fight now. Thor was only allowed into his brother’s cell by the kindness of their father, and the slightest hint of violence would result in a rescindment of such an allowance: Thor would lose his brother and Loki would lose his guest.

 

“Do not insult our father!” Thor spat.

 

“Hetold us that we were _both_ born to be kings! The only reason I was born to be a king is because I was stolen from the lap of a Frost Giant sovereign! I was born a monster! I was left to _die_ by a monster! Not only did our father lie, but he also stole a child that even damned _beasts_ could not stand to raise!”

 

“So you would rather he had left you to die?”

 

Loki merely sneered and curled his lip in response. The silver-tongued prince rarely let said tongue turn to lead, and – when he did so – it was often a part of his manipulations. Thor would have allowed it, he would have allowed his brother that moment of control to save his pride, but the very _thought_ that Loki would prefer death to life was maddening! Thor could not imagine a life without his brother. He had travelled the universe to find him, and so to hear that he would prefer death to life was too much to bear. It seemed that the younger man was intent to live in misery. Did he do this merely to spite Thor?

 

Thor grabbed his brother’s wrist and flung him across the cell. There was – on one side of the cell – an energy-barrier, designed for the guards to look in on their rounds and to keep the prisoner in place, but the rest of the cell was a simple space. There was a bed to the far side and a table to the side closest to the opposite wall, besides which sat a pile of books, and there was also the long white bench on the wall facing the barrier . . . a bowl for washing, a table and chair for reading . . . no doubt that his brother felt like an animal in a cage. He was something without freedom, a creature to be watched and controlled, and the only privacy he had came from the attached bathroom area that was nothing like the luxury he had once known. The clothes he wore represented his criminal status well. He wore nothing but a green hooded jumpsuit made from the roughest of materials. He looked rough himself.

 

Loki regained his balance and shook himself where he stood, before he sent a dark glare to Thor and dropped himself down onto the edge of the bed. He threw up his hands in mock defeat, whilst he wore a soft smirk on his face, and somehow – against his wishes – Thor found himself smiling at how Loki regained control of the situation. It was almost as if the old Loki were back. He remembered the way the troublesome man would smile up at their father with an innocent smile as a child, the way he could make almost anyone fall for his charms . . .

 

“I asked you a question,” Thor said.

 

The young prince sent a glance to the barrier on his left. It was strange, almost as if he were searching for someone or trying to ascertain whether or not they were being listened to, but Thor knew that – even though that was not the case – there would be little convincing Loki of that. The white cell contained only the bare minimum for comfort and the sustaining of sanity; no doubt the lack of privacy would contribute to paranoia. What else could he do – other than to read – to keep his mind sharp?

 

“I may as well be dead,” Loki said coldly. “I am no longer Loki Odinson. The man before you is nothing but the abandoned child of a Frost Giant . . . Loki Laufeyson.” Loki gave a small wince. “I am here before you as a shadow of a man. I am _nothing_.”

 

“That is not the Loki I remember, Brother! Where is the man that would delay my ascension to the throne with his pranks, because he knew that I was ill-equipped for such a role, because he wanted to protect the people of our realm?”

 

“That man never existed,” Loki hissed.

 

There was an intense anger that coursed through Thor’s veins. It was something that was slow at first, the irritation of being called a liar by the one person notorious for nothing _but_ lies, and then it simmered to the surface and boiled over. He would not stand for insults against his brother, even by his brother himself. The fury inside him caused him to shake and snarl. He broke under the intense pressure and grabbed the reading-table. He threw it at the energy barrier.

 

The table smashed against the barrier with great force, but – true to Asgardian standards – the barrier did not break and the table scattered itself across the room. The barrier glowed a faint golden-yellow with the magic that had repelled the table. It would have been a truly frightening sight, were it not for Loki’s rather mocking smile, as if he knew for a certainty that his brother’s temper-tantrum was merely a childish display and not a true attempt at intimidation. Thor wanted nothing more than to strike some sense into Loki, but that would be nothing but futile. Loki _wanted_ to be hit. It would be validation of his incorrect beliefs, a way of ‘proving’ how right he was that he was unloved, and he would only mock Thor should he did strike him.

 

“You seem surprised,” Loki said calmly.

 

“Do not _dare_ to tell me that the brother I knew was merely a lie!”

 

“You should know me by now, lying is what I do best.”

 

Thor looked down at the younger man on the bed. It was almost pitiable how Loki sought to appear so strong and powerful, because the fear in his eyes was as plain now as it had ever have been. The only difference was that – long ago – he had known his limitations. There were those that called it cowardice, but it was more than that; Loki had never turned his back out of fear, but out of the tactical understanding of the importance of retreat.

 

Loki had gracefully accepted his fate at the hands of the Avengers, because he had known the futility of fighting past his defeat. The only time he had ever fought back without considering his actions, the only time he had so violently betrayed the morals that he had been raised by, had been the time he had been supposedly manipulated by the sceptre and threatened with violence . . . it was almost understandable why he would act so cruelly under such circumstances. His eyes had reflected such pain that he was barely recognisable, an expression that Thor would never forget . . .

 

“You seem upset, Brother.” Loki smiled warmly and opened his arms wide as if welcoming the other. “Would you like me to kiss it all better?”

 

“This is not the time for your jokes!”

 

“Oh, but it is! You accuse me of lying, but am I _truly_? The only reason that I live is because _our mother_ had to beg for the orders of my execution to be stayed; if it were not for her love, I may be _dead_ right now. The first words spoken to me by our father were ‘the boy I knew is dead’. That is what I am to him now; a ‘creature’ that he does not recognise, the son of Laufey . . . a monster! I – _I_ am the monster that parents warn their children of at night! I am the monster men fear they will become! I am _nothing_ and yet _you_ dare to call _me_ the liar for admitting so! You are the liar, _Brother_!”

 

“You are not nothing!” Thor cried. “You are my brother! We were raised together, we playedtogether and we fought together! You only did what you did out of feelings of pain and confusion, your feelings were manipulated and you were threatened into action! These were the actions of a desperate man, not of a monster or a killer!”

 

“What do you know of my motives? When was the last time you stepped down and looked at the man trapped beneath your foot? When was the last time you looked away from the light of our father and looked into the shadows behind you? You know _nothing_ about how I feel! The mortals themselves paint me as a villain, let alone _your_ dear father. How often did we visit their world? Do you know the things they say?”

 

“The mortals are ignorant to the truth!”

 

Loki rolled his eyes and looked away from Thor. It was a hard look to decipher, because it could have been due to shame as much as it could have been disrespect. He brought one leg up to touch upon the black frame of the bed, whilst he wrapped his arms around it in a loose and lazy hold, and his black hair – frizzy and unkempt – hid part of his pale face from view. He seemed to be almost thoughtful and patient. It reminded him of the days where they would sit side-by-side, or even lie lazily on bed beside one another, and Loki would listen to Thor’s latest tales of adventure or practise magic as Thor stole some extra hours of sleep. How many times had Thor hidden in Loki’s room to escape their father or their tutors? It was too many to count.

 

“So you have heard about the ‘origins’ of Sleipnir? You know of the _reputation_ they give me? _They cannot even remember my name_! They confuse my tales with _Logi_ ; I am made out by them to be nothing more than a joke! Do you know how it feels to be a joke in one world and a punchline in another? I am better than that. I am a king and I _deserve_ some respect! I take back _nothing_. I would do it all again, if I could.”

 

“Are you so vain that you would let the tales of mere _mortals_ fill you with self-loathing? It is human nature to create narratives of the universe, to explain what cannot be explained! You know this!”

 

“ _What_ do I know? Everything I knew was a lie!”

 

Loki stood tall before Thor. The two were a mere inch or so apart, both on edge with muscles tense and anger brewing, and yet neither could bring it upon themselves to back down or to back away. It was not unusual for them – in the past – to stand so close to one another, but now their relationship had changed and evolved, the tensions between them were too strong, and Thor was not sure that he could contain his emotions for long. He did not want to hurt his brother.

 

They stood for a long moment simply glaring at one another. Thor clenched his fists so tightly that he was sure that blood was dripping from his palm, and both breathed so fiercely that their breaths sounded nothing more than forced hisses. Thor realised that they needed to calm down, because soon he would raise his fists. Those green eyes were filled with venom. It wasn’t hatred, but something worse . . . years of jealousy, of self-hatred . . . years of believing himself to be second best that now festered behind otherwise handsome eyes. Did he think Thor the cause of such pain? Could it not be that Thor was merely a symptom of what Loki sought to eradicate?

 

In a fearsome growl of fury Thor turned his back on his brother and smashed his fist hard upon the floor, sending reverberations throughout the cell, and Loki merely huffed out in amusement and dropped to the bed again. He sat with his body shaking – just slightly, so slightly it was barely perceptible – and kept his hard gaze on the floor with his lips pursed together to the point of paling. Thor eventually turned around and grabbed his brother by his neck; his hands and fingers entwined in hair and his thumbs stroked his jaw affectionately.

 

“You are not alone, Brother,” Thor pleaded. “You must know that you are loved!”

 

“ _I_? _Loved_? I think not. Your friends _despised_ me, even when our mother _gave_ me the throne they still treated me as if I were a usurper! I never asked to take over from our father, yet they treated me as if I were guilty of regicide! Even when I am right, it seems that I am wrong!”

 

“You are merely holding a grudge against my friends from when Sif rejected your flirtations!”

 

“Oh _please_ , like I would ever want _your_ sloppy seconds.”

 

“Do not insult my friends!”

 

Loki made to pull away, but Thor held him in place. He was certain that his eyes were brimming with fury to the point that water gathered at their corners, but it seemed that his brother did not care . . . since when did Loki believe the world to be beneath him? He was content to kill one race to prove his worth, content to subjugate another in order to exact a need for revenge deep within his heart, and now – of all things – he was insulting Thor’s closest friends and their closest allies. It was difficult to tell whether this was a self-destructive need to be hurt, or whether it was true arrogance.

 

“Do not insult yourself . . .”

 

“Why should I not? They _never_ liked me. They only endured me because _you_ insisted on including me so often, if it weren’t for you they would never have spoken to me. I don’t merely refer to Sif’s rejection, but to the things that they said . . . they did not trust me, not fully! I was just the trickster and the prankster! I was the joke! Why? What was it that I did to make father, your friends and _you,_ all pity me so? I may not have had the _strength_ that you do, but I was not weak!”

 

“No one ever said that you were weak!” Thor screamed. “There may be those that do not respect the ability of magic, especially in a man, but without your magic we would not have survived the ambush in Jotunheim!”

 

“That wasn’t the _only_ time my magic saved us. I remember a certain someone needed a fog for distraction in order to escape an oncoming army . . .”

 

“You still harp on about _that_? I could have won that fight easily!”

 

“Oh, of course, I don’t doubt that at all.”

 

Loki gave a rather arrogant grin. It was quite mocking, matching the sarcasm of his words well, and yet the way he reached up to take a hold of his brother’s hands felt sincere and gentle. Thor still held upon his brother’s neck and cheek, whilst Loki now held onto those same hands, and somehow – for just one moment – it felt as if they were back to being the siblings they had been long before this had begun.

 

Thor finally let go of Loki and took a step back, a sad smile gracing his lips as he looked at the man that was his brother. He had never denied Loki, not even when his true heritage had been revealed, but the younger man would forever fear abandonment . . . abandonment that had come at the hands of Laufey and now at the hands of Odin. There would be no reassuring his brother of how wanted he was, and forever he would doubt himself and his very worth. Loki stayed upon the edge of bed and smiled up at him, whilst Thor could only smile down in response.

 

“We make a good team, Brother,” Thor said sadly.

 

“We _made_ a good team,” Loki said in exasperation. “Now you have your _new_ brothers, not to mention that young maiden whose heart you’ve stolen . . . or was it her head? It always seemed to be one and the same to you.”

 

“Do not bring Jane into this! My feelings for her are true!”

 

“Oh, I don’t doubt _that_ ,” Loki spat. “You refused to treat me as an equal even when I fought you with all I had, but the _moment_ I uttered a word about that howling quim _you_ suddenly start giving it your all. How interesting it is that a woman you had known for all of _three days_ could mean more to you than your brother. I should not be surprised, I am – after all – nothingto you.”

 

“Will you never listen to the truth? If you meant nothing to me, if I had no respect for you, then I would not be here now, _begging_ for you to return to your senses! Are you so wrapped up in your vanity that you can not see the world outside of yourself?”

 

“ _You_ talk to _me_ about vanity?”

 

Loki scoffed loudly and raised his foot to the edge of the bed. He wrapped his arms around his leg, whilst he gave a rather dark smile to his brother. It was a smile that acted as a warning, with his lip curled in one corner and his eyes half-lidded as if he were seething behind their surface, and it only served to highlight the difference between them. Thor was the sort to strike out, with only a verbal warning to those he cared about, but Loki was not the sort for physical violence. He would only give ‘the look’ or a thinly veiled warned. He would never explicitly state his frustration.

 

“Your vanity would have led us all to war,” Loki spat.

 

“I have grown since then!” Thor shouted, whilst he wrung the air itself. “I was not ready to be king, but this is a fact that I have learned to accept! I was not the one who – despite his wisdom and foresight – used his powers to commit treason and threaten the security of our kingdom! You could have merely voiced your concerns!”

 

“Who would have listened to me? You? _Father_? It didn’t matter what I said, I would have only been accused of jealousy and ignorance! I did what I did to save our kingdom, our home . . . I did not expect you to be _banished_.”

 

“I know, Brother. I am aware.”

 

The two shared an awkward gaze as they absorbed that fact. Thor knew that his brother had sincerely loved him, that he had never meant for Thor to be banished, but there was also no denying how Loki had sought to steal his way into being their father’s favourite. It never occurred to Loki that their father did not have a favourite. It never occurred to him that he would be found out, that emotionally manipulating Thor would be cruel and also lead to his downfall, and it had never occurred to him that his attempt at genocide would actually go against everything their father believed in. He had failed to see the bigger picture. How could a man so smart be so blind?

 

Thor often wished that he could understand his brother’s mind. He wanted to know how a man so loved – so admired and cherished by their father – could become so self-loathing as to think that he could get attention by acting out, to think that their father would hate a realm so much that he would gain favour by destroying an entire race of people. It was made worse by that these people held his brother’s blood, and so Thor could only wonder if Loki felt himself _above_ that race or was actually so disgusted by what he was that he would wipe out every last trace of it.

 

It was true that long ago Thor had thought war the answer. He had been willing to kill many for the actions of a few, but his time on Earth had changed that. He had seen the lives of the people, he had seen the love and evil they were capable of, that strange dichotomy in the hearts of souls of every human, and he came closer to understanding what his father meant. War was not something to be craved. Thor would use his warrior strength to defend his people, because a true warrior fought with purpose and with honour, and in time he would perhaps learn the tolerance that seemed innate to humans such as Jane and Eric. He wanted to see that growth in Loki, but it seemed that only pain and despair grew in his heart.

 

“If you were to just show remorse,” Thor pleaded, “our father would see sense.”

 

“Would he? The only way he would release me would be if it provided some political or military benefit, and even then do you _truly_ think he would trust me not to betray our race at the drop of a hat? I am nothing but a filthy Jotun. It doesn’t matter if this is my home, the only family that I have _ever_ known . . . it doesn’t matter that I was even willing to kill the entirety of my blood and home world to prove my loyalty . . . to him I am nothing more than a monster. I shall not be allowed out of this cell alive.”

 

“That is not true! If you showed genuine feelings of regret, if you _promised_ to make recompense, I am filled with certainty that our father would allow your release. I would take responsibility for you. I promise that I shall not abandon you! You shall earn back your place as Loki Odinson! We shall return to our adventures with the Warriors Three and Lady Sif! All you need do is apologise.”

 

“Oh, is that all?”

 

It had been a year since Thor had seen Loki since his ‘death’, and he had only just been sent to Earth to bring him back to their home, and yet he knew that tone of voice perfectly. The exaggerated disbelief, completed with the raised eyebrows and half-smile, signalled to Thor anger in his brother that would soon reach breaking point if not tempered soon. It seemed that shadows appeared under Loki’s eyes as he lowered his head, and his skin paled as if holding onto what little patience he had left.

 

The man in green stood up and sent a dark and dangerous glare to his brother, one that spoke of years of resentment and bitter frustration. He did not step closer to Thor. He did not raise his voice or move to attack, perhaps because he knew the futility of such actions, but could it not be that he cared about his brother? Loki had not seemed to care whether or not Thor would be killed when he sent the Destroyer down to Earth, although a part of Thor liked to believe that his brother knew that – in a roundabout way – this would restore Thor’s powers and bring him to life. This was a man who had seemed to wish Thor dead. Why did he now hold back his rage?

 

“I will never regret what I have done, _Thor_.”

 

“Then I can do nothing but regret this conversation. You disappoint me, _Brother_.”

 

“You _still_ call me ‘brother’? I should be the one disappointed in you.”

 

“Goodbye, Brother.”

 

Thor turned his back and waited for the barrier to be lowered. He left the cell at once. He could feel his hands shaking in sheer rage and frustration, but to express such fury before his brother would lead to a fight of otherworldly proportions, and that was something he could not risk. He wanted to see Loki again, to gain his trust, and he could not do that if his father forbade them from further contact. Instead he kept his back to Loki and walked on. He would try to learn from the past and stay calm.

 

“Yes, walk away, Thor. It’s not as though there is anything here worth your time.”

 

It was difficult to turn his back on his brother. There was nothing left to say at that point, plus both men would need time to gain their thoughts and regain their strength, and yet there felt something wrong about leaving a man who was so convinced of his worthlessness. When Loki’s voice rang out behind him, he could sense a raw emotion that he had not expected to find . . .

 

“Walk away, like I knew you would.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

** Chapter Two **

****

Thor felt awed by his father.

 

There could be no denying that this man was a true king. He stood tall and proud, like a king should, and he exuded a strength that did not come from physical prowess alone, but from an innate emotional and intellectual understanding. It was as if he had been born with the knowledge that respect was something to be earned. He was a great man and commanded respect without demanding it, and he was the man that Thor admired more than any other. He was the man that Thor would one day become.

 

Odin stood before the cell with complete confidence and composure, and Thor could feel himself fidget at the realisation of how perfect his father seemed in comparison. It would likely be an action not lost on their prisoner, because the black-haired man was the sort of man to notice each and every detail, but Thor had acted on instinct before he had a chance to so much as think about what it was that he acted on. He quickly stood in emulation of his father: tall and unafraid. It would be impossible to exude the aura that his father did, but Thor had never been a man to pretend to be anything other than what he was. If he were nervous, he would not hide that, least of all from Loki. Loki seemed to see things in Thor that Thor himself was oblivious.

 

He wondered where the Loki he had once known had gone . . .

 

No sooner had Thor collected his thoughts had their father knocked his staff upon the floor with a heavy gesture, one that sent ripples of sound throughout the dungeons. It was enough to gain the attention of the two brothers and several guards. Odin did not even have to look to know that the three guards had left the room, leaving the two of them to stand alone before Loki’s cell. He did not have to utter a command to know that Loki would stand patiently. He merely waited and all else came naturally.

 

“I understand that you have spoken to my son Thor,” Odin said.

 

There was not a single hint of anger or pain his voice, almost as if he were devoid of emotion entirely and talking with the disinterest of a politician to a prisoner of war, and his eyes were steely and cold. Thor knew that it took a lot for their father to lose his composure, but he had assumed that in such a circumstance – confronted with the sight of his youngest son trapped like an animal – that he would show some flicker of emotion. It seemed that Thor had misunderstood his father once more.

 

Thor wondered whether his father’s actions were an impressive feat of self-control or something more . . . could it be that their father felt nothing at all? Thor did not want to think that. Still, he knew what duty meant to Odin, and he admired him for putting the lives of their people before any one person. It was an attitude that Thor sought to emulate, one completely opposite to his mother and brother, and yet there was something that his father had that he did not: self-control. That was one trait that Odin shared with his youngest son. Loki was so similar to Odin, but yet he held such contrasting ideals. Thor wondered if Loki saw it too.

 

“You are incorrect, _Allfather_ ,” Loki said with a hint of bitterness. “It was _your_ son who came here to speak to me. I am grateful for his company, for I was beginning to think that Mother’s face would be the only one that I would see, but I cannot help but wonder how long it will be until I am all but forgotten, like an old book left on a low shelf . . . or is that what you are here for? Are these visits now forbidden?”

 

“Quite the opposite, Loki. If you would be patient with me for a few moments, you will find that we have something of great import to discuss. It may be beneficial to you to listen without prejudice. I trust that you will listen.”

 

“Do I have a choice in the matter?”

 

Loki came close to the barrier. It seemed that he had slicked back his hair as best as he could with the water provided to him, but that this had not succeeded as well as it should. His long hair trailed down his back, but a few loose strands came over his shoulders in a way that made him look more like a typical warrior than an academic prince of the realm, and yet his green eyes remained as steely and focussed as their father’s. They lacked Frigga’s compassion. They lacked Thor’s longing.

 

Did neither man long for the past? Thor could not believe that a true impasse had been reached, but merely that it was sheer stubbornness on both parts that prevented them from reaching a state of forgiveness. There had been a time when Thor had shared in their stubborn streak, he would not deny that, but – even before he had grown as a man and as a warrior – he had put his family before all else. He would never resort to violence against his father, he never spoke out of line to his mother, and to Loki he always made sure to warn him of his moods and protect him against any others. That their father would not forgive – that Loki could not ask for forgiveness – was merely an act of two men determined to hold onto what control they had.

 

Odin stood on the outside of the cell and looked in, whilst Thor kept a respectful distance at the side of their father. It was an awkward feeling. He wanted to speak freely as a member of the family, between equals, but this was not a familial meeting. He was there merely as an observer, for their king – not their father – required a meeting with a prisoner. So there it was that their father stood in full armour. The golden eye-patch stood out in perfect contrast with Odin’s grey locks, and the metallic armour gave shape to his aging body that made it seem as if youth had never left him.

 

“You always have a choice, Loki Laufeyson,” Odin said calmly. “You can stand and listen to me like the prince you once were, or you can ask me to leave and I shall leave at your request. You only have to say the word.”

 

“There is a catch, surely?”

 

“Iam not the one for trickery. I am a man of my word. If you wish me to leave, I shall do so. It is up to you to make the choice, as you have made each and every choice that has led you to this point, and for you alone to decide if that choice is what is right for you. I will warn you to choose wisely. If you are as intelligent, as my wife seems to believe, then you shall do so. There shall be no chance to change your mind.”

 

“I will listen to you, Allfather,” Loki said as he narrowed his gaze. “I can not deny that I am without my doubts, nor can I deny that I find it suspicious you would bring Thor with you for a mere ‘chat’, but I will listen. What else _can_ I do?”

 

“Good. There is much to be said.”

 

Odin gave a subtle smile that spoke of softer times. The corner of his eye crinkled just slightly and the lines of age seemed to soften with the movement of his smile, but yet there was something dangerous and dark behind that gaze. It put Thor on edge. He knew that his father still held affection for Loki, because – despite all that his brother had done – there could be no erasing so many years of love and kinship, but he also knew that his brother no longer came first. This was a political visit.

 

Thor did his best to bite his tongue and lowered his head a miniscule amount, because he knew the value of keeping silence before their father. He had much to say, but he had already spoken at great length to Odin and he would have chance a plenty to talk to Loki once the conversation was at an end. That did not change the fact that he worried about what was to come. He could see the internal struggle his brother faced evident upon his pale features, as his head turned slightly to one side and his eyebrows knitted together in an expression of confused scepticism, and meanwhile his bare hands clenched at the sides of his rough, green tunic. The barrier between them kept the distance physical as well as emotional.

 

“Do you know, Loki, what I felt when I first held you?”

 

“Pity? Disgust?” Loki shook his head with a wry smile. “Did you feel amusement at having a new toy to play with? Perhaps you felt relieved at having found a symbol for your political agenda? Why don’t you tell me what you felt? Tell me about how _useful_ I was for something so _inhuman_.”

 

“Do not presume to know our father’s feelings!” Thor shouted in fury. “If that was all you were then our parents would not have grieved as they did! Mother was inconsolable and it was father who sent me to find you once we learned you lived!”

 

“ _Enough_!”

 

Odin slammed his staff on the floor. The noise was deafening. It caused Thor to raise his hands to his ears in an attempt to soften the pain in his eardrums, and Loki winced visibly from within his cell as he glared harshly at his blond brother. The barrier seemed to block some of the sound, but it did not do anything to hide the fire in Odin’s eyes or the hardening of his lips into a bitter line. Could it be possible to feel both anger and sadness in but one heartbeat? Thor wanted nothing more than to scream at Loki for his disrespect, but he drew in a deep breath and held his tongue.

 

“There will be no arguing,” Odin commanded. “I will have silence.”

 

“Yes, Father,” conceded Thor.

 

“I shall tell you both what I felt. I will also remind you that one of you agreed to listen to me, whilst the other agreed to remain silent and merely observe. If either of you stoops to antagonise the other, I shall postpone this talk for a later date.”

 

The two men were silenced at once. It was almost like the days of old, when they were a true family without the security of guards or the boundary of a prison barrier to hold them apart. The silence in the dungeons was poignant, with only a slight breeze blowing down the corridor and the sound of Thor’s heavy breathing echoing about the walls, and meanwhile Loki seemed to shake just slightly and found it difficult to look their father in his face. It seemed so bare in Loki’s cell. It emphasised his features and made him seem all the more vulnerable and broken.

 

“You do not know what love is until you have a child,” Odin said in a slow and patient tone with a sad smile. “You spend so many months waiting for a new life to come into being, building a dream inside your head and picturing what form that life will take, until you dream up a perfect dream. Then comes the pain of birth. In a brief moment you wonder if the screams of pain from your wife are worth any child you have yet to meet, but once that baby is in your arms . . . you realise they were.

 

“Every ounce of pain, every mistake, every ill fortune was worth it, because each one brought me closer to my son. I will say now that the dream was a ridiculous fancy. There is no dream in this world or beyond that can ever represent the true perfection of holding your son for the first time, the feeling not just of love, but being _in_ love, because you do not love your children . . . you fall in love with them. You swear to dedicate your life to making theirs perfect. You would change the world for them, because the world is theirs and theirs alone. Your life ceases to be yours. You live solely for them. They _are_ your world.

 

“You may not have been borne by the woman that you call your mother, but I always considered you my son. The moment that I held you in my arms, I felt those same feelings for you as I did for Thor. I looked at you and saw a beauty I had never before seen, I saw you cease to cry and begin to laugh, and I knew that I could protect you in a way that your biological father would not. I knew that I could be your father.

 

“My love was born for you instantly.”

 

There came a sudden silence.

 

It was as if each man was lost within his thoughts. Thor knew how difficult it had been for their father to speak so openly, to confess his feelings when he held such a strong belief in stoicism before others, but this was a matter that called for candour. That was not enough to stop the awkward silence that befell them, however. Thor had always loved his father, but if he had known how loved he had been in return then he would never have invaded Jotunheim so recklessly over a year ago.

 

Thor looked to his father and saw that the older man had changed his expression. In the darkened hallway, in the golden glow from the barriers of the cells, and with the stark whiteness that exuded from within the cells themselves, he seemed to age considerably. He appeared not as a king, but as an elderly man. There was softness to his eyes that denoted affection and nostalgia, but also a hardness to his features that depicted a great pain and sense of betrayal. He was a man who grieved for the son that he had felt he lost. It was true that the Loki before them was the same man he had always been, just as it was true that Loki himself sought for forgiveness even if he did not ask for it, but to Odin the man that had been his son was dead. Loki was dead.

 

It was merely a shame that Loki did not feel the same love. He still craved and longed for approval, but it seemed that the revelation that the one thing he desired – the one thing he needed – had been his all along . . . it was clear that Loki hated himself for having thrown away, however unwillingly, the one thing he had wanted all his life. His hands shook by his side and Thor could see him swallow back his emotions. It seemed, for a long moment, that he had to wait for his lips to stop shaking and his eyes to stop watering, because to speak otherwise would lead him to tears.

 

“An impressive story,” Loki said in a broken voice. “Do you merely tell me what you _know_ I would wish to hear just to manipulate me emotionally? Are you really going to ignore the part where you used me for a pawn in your political game?”

 

“You twist my words? You paint me to be a villain?”

 

Loki smashed his hand hard upon the barrier. It was a violent gesture, one borne of frustration and regret, but for one awful moment in time Thor feared his brother may somehow smash the barrier and cause great injury. The barrier merely glowed an intense shade of gold and forced back Loki’s arm, almost like a great and physical blow to the side of his person, but it did not have much of an effect upon the younger man. His hands shook so greatly that it was clear he was holding in great pain.

 

“Aren’t you?” Loki cried. “The _moment_ where I acted other than the perfect son _,_ you _disowned_ me! Is it not enough that I was just some runt of a litter, something so disgusting and pathetic that even a _monster_ could not love me, but you – _you_ – claim to love me and yet _lie_ to me all of my life . . . was it better to love the illusion of an son than the truth of a monster?” Loki’s eyes began to water. “I tried. I tried to win your approval, but I failed and I lost everything. I just wanted your love.”

 

“You always had my love. I still love you, even now, but you are no son of mine! I can not – nor will not – ever condone your actions or acknowledge you as an Asgardian when you act as a disgrace.”

 

“You claim to love me? You wanted to _kill_ me! You wanted my execution!”

 

“Your actions have brought us all closer to Ragnarök!"

 

Odin pointed his staff directly at Loki. The fury on his face was plain for Thor to see. There could be no mistaking the red flush to his cheeks, or the venomous narrowing to his gaze, or even the way his voice was so strained with his scream that it broke upon the final word. He took several steps towards Loki’s cell, and slammed the staff down hard upon the floor. He had very rarely ever laid a hand upon his children, but Thor thought – in that instant – that Odin would have if he could.

 

It was difficult for Thor to remain silent, but he had sworn to be a man of honour and a man of his word, but above all else he had promised himself and his people to be a good king when the time came. He had learned a great deal from Jane and the people on ‘Earth’, so he could not deny the value in his father’s use of exile upon him, but Thor felt as if he owed a duty to his family as much as he owed to his people. Loki was an Asgardian. He had been raised by them and taught by them, and if he had believed himself unloved then it was because they had allowed him to feel unloved, the fault had surely been with them. Thor could not believe the worst in his brother.

 

Loki looked to Thor in what seemed like desperation. He seemed to be pleading with his eyes, looking for some emotional support, just like all those times when he would sit by Thor’s side and keep him company during his weaker moments, or those times when he would speak up in Thor’s defence towards their father. Thor could only look back and open his mouth to apologise, before closing it with a pained expression of his own. He hated that he could not be there for his brother, but he could not defy his father either, not after everything that had happened.

 

Loki gave a weak smile. It was as if he had all his worst fears confirmed, as if he felt abandoned by one of the only two people left in his life. It was a look that tore Thor’s heart in two and made him wonder how his father could bear making such decisions, because how could he bear to turn his back on his youngest son, even if he knew such a decision to be best for their realm? It felt as if the path to being a good leader was paved with sacrifice, but to sacrifice one’s own _family -_?

 

“You destroyed the Bifrost,” Odin said calmly.

 

“I know,” Loki said through tears. “I apologised over and over for my attempted destruction of Jotunheim, and for what happened on Earth . . . I had no choice. They _threatened_ me, Father! The sceptre, it magnified –”

 

“Silence, Loki!”

 

To his credit, he fell silent for one moment. It did not do anything to change the tears that fell from his green eyes, nor did it do anything to change the look of sheer pain and horror that passed across his features. Loki had spent a lifetime believing himself to be in Thor’s shadow . . . to be told to be silent now, when he needed to be heard most of all . . . Thor felt responsible for it. How many times had Loki mastered a new spell only for Thor to steal attention with tales of his latest exploits? It hadn’t been that no one had cared for Loki’s achievements, only that Thor had been louder and more demanding. Thor wished that he had only listened more.

 

“Why should I be silenced?” Loki screamed. “You said that the boy you knew is dead, that I am nothing more than a _creature_ , and you were right. I know that I am nothing, but I have never stopped wanting to be more than that . . . you always loved Thor so much more than me, but now I know why. I was not standing in Thor’s shadow; I _was_ his shadow. If you would just tell me -! How -? How do I become worthy of your love?”

 

“You childish, selfish, _arrogant_ man! Do you think yourself special? Do you think yourself to be so far different from the rest of your race that you are no longer one of them or even one of us? This level of self-hatred is nothing but narcissism at it’s finest! You are so _desperate_ to be ‘special’ that you would be willing to count yourself as a monster just to hold onto the idea that you are somehow different, that you are somehow not like anyone else! Well, _Loki Laufeyson,_ I will tell you now that you are not special. You are not unique. You are a Jotun raised as an Asgardian. You are just like everyone else and the rules do not exclude you!”

 

“So I am nothing to you?”

 

“No, you were _everything_ to me. Do you really think that being equal to your brother, to your people, somehow makes you worthless? Would you rather be worthless than loved, simply because it gets you attention and makes you feel unusual and special? I have always treated you exactly like Thor! I _exiled_ Thor for his stubbornness and egotistical arrogance, and I would have sent him to be imprisoned had he acted as you had! I would have disowned him, too! My love for you both was equal, but not now. Now my youngest son is dead. You killed him.”

 

“So why did you come here? Will you no longer stay the execution?”

 

“We have come to the crux of the matter . . .”

 

Odin took a few steps back.

 

It would be better if they had a chair to sit upon, something for Odin to talk at length with comfort and ease, but the corridor was bare and the only seats were those inside Loki’s cell. Odin – ruler of Asgard – could not afford to be left alone in a cell with a convicted criminal, but neither did it seem right to allow such a man to stand when he was in less than the best of health and so worthy of high respect. Odin did not seem to let it affect him though. He stood dignified.

 

There could be no feeling other than admiration for their father, but when Thor looked to Loki – cheeks wet with tears, face pale with fear – he could not help but feel that the treatment of his brother was far from fair. He wondered if the release of Loki would help in his rehabilitation, because with that release they could work on building Loki’s self-esteem and working through the issues that brought him to the actions he had committed. It would then be possible for Loki to make amends, something that he could not do trapped in a cell. If only Loki would apologise to their father, to just ask for forgiveness outright and promise to change . . .

 

“There is a division in our kingdom,” Odin explained, “as to what to do with you.”

 

“Surely that decision has been made? I am imprisoned.”

 

“Therein lies the dilemma,” Odin admitted with a sharp tone. “There are those – like my wife – who wish for you to be released. They argue that you are an Asgardian as true as any other, that as you were raised practically from birth as one of our kind that this _makes_ you one of our kind, and as such they claim that any fault of character is one that you had learned from those who raised you. It is the classic debate of nature versus nurture, but with a political spin.

 

“They see me as unjust for having disowned you. There are a few who see your actions against Jotunheim as a valid pre-emptive strike against a race that we have existed in a state of cold war for many years, but others who see your actions as one of an emotionally ill individual who needs great care and consideration. Neither of these groups condones your actions in Midgard, but both assert that you acted solely out of necessity and self-preservation. They say that you would have been killed were you not to obey and that your emotions were amplified by the sceptre, because of this you should be treated as more a victim than a culprit.”

 

“What do their opinions matter?” Loki asked coldly. “We are past the point of pretending, Allfather. You cannot release me. I broke far too many laws and destroyed all concepts of morality, and besides . . . you disowned me. You could not accept me back into your family without losing face. They would doubt you and your authority and see you as a fickle ruler.”

 

“Our father is not fickle!” Thor shouted.

 

Odin let out a sound between a snarl and a scream. It was enough to silence Thor and caused him to instinctively pull back and close his mouth, as he forced himself to stand straight again and keep his temper under control. He knew that to antagonise his brother would delay proceedings, which would only cause his brother more undue suffering and continue to disrupt their kingdom. He clenched his fists hard and drew in a sharp intake of breath, whilst Odin glared darkly at him and commanded him silently to keep quiet and act as the mature man that he claimed to be. Thor had to learn not to let insults rile him. It was a hard lesson to learn.

 

“There are also those who loathe you,” Odin said coldly. “They say that your action against the Jotun race was an act of genocide, that you killed innocent women and children in your personal vendetta, and that you did this in full knowledge of what you did. You even threatened a war between the survivors and ourselves, which is entirely possible, for they _will_ seek for vengeance. They say that the sceptre may have magnified your emotions, but that those emotions were always there from the start and that they perhaps always will be. Some argue that you are a Jotun: nothing more.

 

“They say that I am acting merely out of emotion and have selfishly spared you merely as I identify as your father, which – as we both know – is a lie. I cannot blame them. I did act out of self-serving reasons, because it was my wife and son that begged for your life to be spared, and it was my love for them that prevented me from causing them emotional pain. I saved you to save them. I was wrong. My people are right that I must abide to my duty as king first and foremost, that I cannot turn the other cheek when a great crime has been committed, and as such I should have punished you in the manner I would have punished any other person. Your imprisonment was merely an act of my foolish sentimentality and desire to protect those closest to me. There is only one other acceptable solution . . .”

 

Odin seemed reluctant to make eye contact at this point. He cast his gaze down, just for a brief moment, and then looked up again with a slightly steelier sight. It was almost intimidating to see, because for Odin this was evidently as much a difficult decision as it had been for Thor and for Frigga, but this would save Loki’s life and restore some order to their land, as well as possibly prevent a war with the Jotun race. It was not a choice that Odin would choose, but _duty_ to his people forced him to.  

  
There was an awkward silence as Thor resisted from speaking. He could see the colour drain from Loki’s face as their father admitted imprisonment had been a foolish decision, because – knowing that half of their race wished for his death – there could be no other option in Loki’s mind than to be sent to his execution. He could not simply be released. There would be no just reason for doing so, but there would also be no way of keeping check on his person or guaranteeing no repeat of his previous actions. Loki wept silently, his facial expressions stoic despite his tears, and he seemed every bit as regal as a true prince. He had seemed to accept his fate, even if he knew not truly what his fate was to be. 

 

They remained quiet for a moment, because there was nothing else left to say. Loki seemed to wish to speak, desperate to plead his case, but every time he opened his mouth his silver-tongue failed him and he closed his mouth in a loss for words. He raised a shaking hand to his lips to hide his emotion and wiped away some falling tears, and there was no doubt in Thor’s mind that his brother was mentally listing all the reasons that he would give to convince their father to allow him to live. He did not fear death, but nor did he did not _want_ to die when the choice to do so was not his.

 

“So I am to be executed, after all?” Loki said.

 

“On the contrary,” Odin replied coldly. “You will dry your tears. I said that there had been one other option to execution and imprisonment, but it was one I had been reluctant to consider. It is an old solution that has fallen into disuse.”

 

“What? What else can there be but my death?”

 

Odin drew in a deep breath and seemed to take this moment to regain his composure. This had not been his choice, but rather a choice he had been forced to take, for it was the only way to spare the life of Loki and to appease all sides. Thor could see the internal conflict written across his father’s features, the feeling that he was sacrificing too much and yet to choose otherwise would only be a sacrifice of another sort, and yet he was grateful to his father for having made a decision that respected his mother’s wishes. He could have executed Loki, but he didn’t.

 

“There will be a political union.”

 

Loki seemed to freeze in that instant. Thor imagined that the feeling they felt was shared between them, with their blood running cold and a freezing sweat breaking upon their skin, and at that moment Thor’s mouth ran dry. He felt filled with horribly conflicting emotions. There was that violent part of his soul that wished to lash out and scream at their father, but another part that felt as if he may cry at the grief of what was to come . . . this had not been an easy choice at all.

 

Loki gave Thor a knowing look. It forced Thor to look away, but he was aware that a dark realisation had dawned upon his brother and that he was seeing the world in a new light. Loki took a step back and cast his eyes between Odin and Thor. He may have walked away in disgust if he had anywhere to run, and the way he angled his body suggested that he was clearly resistant to the idea of facing them head-on. It was a justified response. Loki seemed to want to scream and cry at once. Thor admired the way that he somehow managed to stay calm and the way he spoke softly.

 

“Between _whom_?” Loki asked.

 

“Yourself and Thor.”

 

“You are joking? You can _not_ be serious.”

 

Odin – for the first time ever – broke eye contact with Loki. He gazed down at the floor beneath his feet and drew in a deep breath, before he looked up with resignation and complete calmness. It was the look of a man that had exhausted all other options, the look of a man who sought only to find a solution that would appease all sides and prevent war, but one that Odin personally disliked. He considered it only out of duty.

 

“It would be strictly a marriage of political convenience,” Odin explained. “There would be no expectation for you to consummate the marriage, although there may be a social expectation to do so. You would not have to worry about being forced or pressured into such acts.”

 

“Should I then not worry about the need for an _heir_?”

 

“If it came to that then your race and magic would combine to make you perfectly eligible to carry a child, but I shall be honest with you, Loki Laufeyson. It is my belief that the political climate shall stabilise between Asgard and Jotunheim, and that our people shall come to accept you once you prove yourself, and so I expect an annulment of the marriage before the issue of an heir shall arise.”

 

“He is my _brother_ -!”

 

“ _Thor is no such thing_! There is no blood between you! There is no relationship whatsoever! Loki Odinson is dead, the man that stands before me now is Loki Laufeyson and _he_ will consider this as a high honour indeed for a mere prisoner!”

 

“And how would this benefit anyone? _How_?”

 

It was a question that had plagued Thor at first, too. His father had sought to placate their desperate mother by freeing her son, but also to calm a nation and make sure that Loki was not merely ‘freed’ without paying his dues first, which had led to a highly difficult situation. There had been very little solutions to his problem, or at least ones that would not antagonise at least one group of people, but this had been a solution that seemed to offer a possible answer to all their people and those of Jotunheim.

 

Odin appeared as tense as Thor felt, clearly furious that this was their only option left and more so that Loki would show ingratitude at such an offer, because this was not an offer that would have been made were it not for outside pressures. Frigga would regard Loki as nothing else but a son, she wanted him back in her life and free to live his life to its fullest, and every second he spent imprisoned was a moment longer that her heart broke and her tears fell. She had begged for Loki to be released, but Odin had not allowed it. He could not be seen to go back on his word, but – more than that – Thor knew that his father would never change his mind about Loki’s disownment.

 

“This is the only option,” Odin stated calmly. “You would be able to be a part of my family without actually being family to me. This would bring great happiness to my wife. It would also appease those of my people who wish for you to be freed, but your marital tie to Thor and restricted movements about the lands would conciliate those who wish for you to remain imprisoned or executed.

 

“Thor will watch your every movement and be responsible for your actions, whilst the guards will take you to and from any place that you have authorization to enter. You will not be allowed out of the palace grounds and you will be completely forbidden from travel between realms. If and when you are needed in another realm, we will consider appropriate action to allow for it, but such an event would be extremely unlikely. You may spend your free time making amends for your heinous actions.

 

“Your marriage to Thor shall hopefully pacify the Jotun race. This will appear like imprisonment and a loss of honour to those of your race that wish you dead, and a political union between the Jotun and Asgardians may prove beneficial. It will provide a link between our two realms. This was the best action to satisfy the Jotun. Those who hate you will see you ‘imprisoned’, whereas those who respect you will see you as accepted by our own. I will be honest with you: they may find a pretext for war regardless. They will find fault whether we imprison you, execute you, or marry you into our fold. You may find yourself proving your loyalty on the battlefield.”

 

“War could be years away,” Loki said in disbelief. “They will need time to collect themselves, to rebuild and prepare for an attack. Their numbers are low. If I am to be _married_ incestuously for longer than a year, simply as a deterrent for an inevitable war, then the people will expect more if they are to believe the marriage as anything less than a farce. Is your plan to annul once the war is over? It may be too late then.”

 

“I assure you that the issue of an heir should not arise.”

 

“Then you believe war will come soon?” Loki shook his head with a sad smile. “What of my brother . . . I am sorry, I mean my _fiancé . . ._ did he agree to this? This will _mortify_ that pathetic bint of his . . . although that _is_ incentive enough.”

 

“Do not insult Jane!” Thor screamed.

 

He made to storm forward, but found his father’s hand outstretched to block him. In all honesty he was not sure what he would have done, being that Loki was still safely trapped within his cell and Thor was trapped without, but the fury of having the one person in his life that he loved most of all _insulted_ was too much to bear. He felt the muscles in his arms tense to breaking point as he glared daggers at Loki, who merely gave an angry smile back at him. The black-haired man shook his head in disbelief, but he was not the one with right to show disdain! How could they find harmony if Loki could not even respect Thor or those closest to him?

 

Loki threw up his hands as if in defeat, as he sent an indecipherable look to Thor. He turned several times on his feet, caught between running and standing his ground, whereas Thor had to use all his strength not to lash out as he took an angry step back. It was a long few moments before his father lowered his hand, removing the block towards the cell, but Thor still desired nothing more than to strike out. He stood still and breathed deep. Loki, meanwhile, pointed harshly to Odin and spoke coldly.

 

“Will the great Allfather truly part two destined lovers?”

 

“You would do well to ask such questions directly to Thor. If you agree to this then you will be required to spend much time together, both socially and at official events. I will have nothing more to do with you after this meeting. I will be your king and your father-in-law, nothing more.”

 

“Very well, Allfather. _Thor_ , what have you to say about this? Pray tell.”

 

The sarcasm positively dripped from every word that Loki uttered. He clearly expected his brother to refuse the proposal, but at the same time he likely suspected that this issue would not have been brought up unless Odin had been certain that it could be implemented without hassle. Thor would have also objected by now if this had been his first time hearing such words. Loki looked darkly at Thor; his green eyes narrowed and his head lowered so as to cast his face into shadow. Thor did not know what to say. He was angry, but so too was his brother. He did the only thing that he could: he answered honestly.

 

“I will one day be king, Loki,” Thor said in a broken voice. “I promised our father that I would put duty before love, that I would put the lives of the many before the lives of the few, and this is a choice that will benefit all our people.”

 

“You could have refused! War is inevitable! The Jotun filth will attack us the very moment that they gather their forces and pool their resources, and in that moment this will have all been for nought! This will benefit me greatly. I will be free and then when we go to war I can prove my worth and defend our kingdom, but what of you? You would really sacrifice Jane just for my sake? What do you stand to gain?”

 

“It is not just for your sake! This will unify our people and create a sense of solidarity; they will come together and not argue as to whether your punishment was just or inhumane! I am not like our father yet; I cannot ignore the pain of those that I love! If I can save both my brother _and_ our people, then I shall!”

 

“I am not your brother though, am I?”

 

“You will always be my brother and my closest friend. Father has shown great mercy in allowing you to live. Mother has begged him so many times for your release, how could I refuse him? I have made my decision to protect you and our people.”

 

“And am I to have a choice?”

 

Loki walked to the barrier of the cell. It was a quick-paced and steady movement, but it was only when he came close to the barrier – his face but inches from it – that he showed his true frustration. His face was one that spoke of clear anger, which was completely understandable. Loki had all his control taken from him. He was a man who needed to prove himself, a man who needed validation, and now he had no power whatsoever over his circumstances. It was as if his every worst fear had been confirmed, or – worse – as if he had _become_ the thing he feared.

 

Thor looked to his father coldly, as he fought back the urge to storm up to the barrier and put Loki in his place. It was the disrespect against their father that frustrated him most of all. Odin was a good man, and that was clear in the way he had offered this alternative solution to them, even when he wished more than anything to forget Loki’s very existence. Odin saw his son’s distaste and raised a hand to silence him.

 

The older man stepped forward and looked Loki in the eyes. It was strange to see two men – that at been at loggerheads since so early into Loki’s childhood – looking at each other with a sort of mutual respect, as if they understood the other and wished to speak to the other as an equal. Loki lowered his fist and nodded slowly to Odin. Odin in turn gave a weak smile and turned slightly to his side, he lifted his arm and signalled to Thor and drew attention to his eldest son. It was a gesture that spoke of acceptance for Thor and the desire for Loki to look to Thor rather than anyone else. It was the gesture of a king.

 

“You have had nothing but choices,” Odin snapped coldly. “You have but one choice left: my son or imprisonment. I will give you forty-eight hours. You will marry Thor and create a political union that will foster good relations with the Jotun and pacify our people, or you will rot in this cell until the day of Ragnarök! I could not care less, Loki Laufeyson. The decision is yours. I pray that you will choose well.”

 

“Father,” Loki begged, “please just –”

 

“ _I am not your father_. Come, Thor, we shall leave.”

 

Odin turned around with an elegant sweep. It seemed that the guards must have been listening, or perhaps waiting for a visual sign, because no sooner had Odin turned did the previous three guards return to provide escort to their king. It felt as if the atmosphere in the dungeons changed in that moment, as if electricity ran through the air and as if no one dared to speak. It was an awkward silence, indeed.

 

Thor stood still as he watched his father leave. The older man moved with great and powerful strides, he moved like a king and a warrior, and as Thor watched him he wondered if he would one day grow into a king like him. He wanted to become like his father, but a better version of his father. He knew the value of duty, but he also knew the duty to which he owed his family and loved ones, and he knew the importance that any decision would have on both . . . his father had taught him that. His father had taught him so much, but there he went and there he walked out of Loki’s life. Thor could not turn his back on Loki, no matter what he had done.

 

“Thor, please,” Loki pleaded. “You can not think this a wise choice, surely?”

 

“I had two days to think it through, Brother, like you,” Thor admitted. “We could think of no other way to save you and our realm. If this is a foolish choice, it is a choice I would make a thousand times over to save you from this fate worse than death. It is my duty to you to keep you safe.”

 

“Then what is _my_ duty?”

 

The look of frustration in Loki’s eyes was almost pitiable. He seemed to be searching for answers that could not be given, and even for a graceful loser and a man of great honour this was no easy feat to bear. Loki could accept defeat, he could accept being a prisoner, but to Loki this amounted to slavery. He had been given a choice that he had no choice _but_ to accept. He would forever spend his life in chains and imprisoned, even if those chains could not be seen and those cells were lavish and beautiful. He would live second best to Thor. His worst nightmares would come to life. He would finally be nothing, regardless of what he chose . . .

 

“Your duty is to make amends,” Thor said with a sad smile. “To do that you must live freely. You may not think this much of a choice, Brother, but I see it as a great opportunity. By my side you can prove your worth, but alone in this cell you would be forgotten as a man and remembered as a monster. Your duty is to choose well.”

 

“When did you become so wise, Thor?”

 

Thor looked back to the open doors where his father had left, then looked towards Loki and saw the sad smile on his brother’s features. He had learned from both men. He had learned about himself in the process, about what it meant to be a good king from Odin and to be a good man from Loki, and he had learned from both what mistakes to avoid. He gave a half-mocking and half-sincere salute to Loki and began to walk away, whilst smiling to himself in the process.

 

“Forty-eight hours, Loki. Choose well!”

 

 

****

 


	3. Chapter 3

** Chapter Three **

****

Loki flexed his left hand.

 

The pain that shot through his arm was sharp and not entirely unpleasant. It began as an irritating and uncomfortable burning sensation in his knuckles, before it radiated a dull ache along his fingers and arm, and then – finally – he felt an odd vice-like sensation upon his wrist. To many it would have been a fearsome wound, with blood still speckled across the pale skin, but to Loki is was merely a reminder of the fact that he was alive. He was alive and he could have purpose yet.

 

It did not help that the handcuffs upon his wrists were so confining and restricting, because – without free movement – the wound had become stiff. He could understand the security placed upon him. He would be nothing but a prisoner until the day of the marriage, and even then he would merely be moving from one form of imprisonment into another, but to be forced into handcuffs felt almost as insulting as the previous muzzle. They were rigid and unyielding, thick enough to encompass the entirety of the wrists from the tips of his golden armbands to partway of his hand, and they were chained to a collar on his neck, a chain that matched in style to his collar and cuffs.

 

His only consolation was that the collar was padded inside, so as not to cut his throat, but the metal was so heavy that it forced him to use great strength just to hold his head high, and high he held it. They wanted to break his spirit. They wanted the world to see him chained like an animal, surrounded by guards both behind and in front, and they wanted him to feel as if what little control he had over his life had been stolen. Loki took consolation in that he would always have control, even if it were simply over his own thoughts and ability to stand proud.

 

The only benefit to this situation was that he was finally able to see outside his cell. There had been no beauty in the dungeons, but to walk the hallways of the palace presented him with a beauty that he had long since forgotten . . . tall windows showed a stunning panoramic view of their realm, whilst the golden decorations seemed to radiate with a light of their own, and meanwhile statues of Thor’s ancestors lined the corridors with an admirable elegance.

 

It felt good to walk those halls. It felt good to have his black hair combed and slicked back out of his way, just as it felt good to be able to stamp his identity with his attire. The gold-accented, green coat felt heavy and warm upon his body, the black tunic-style top was fitted and comfortable, and all that he lacked from his former self were the weapons he once harnessed. There would be no daggers hidden upon him. Even a restriction upon his magic had been put into place, blocking him from strong spells and any illusions . . . so many ‘chains’ for one supposedly insignificant man.

 

“Loki,” came a cold voice.

 

_Ah, so one of the guards had missed a vital spot-check . . ._

Loki laughed as he felt the cold press of metal against his skin. It seemed that tensions were running high and that feelings were still dark, but it was reassuring to know that blades were still sharpened and skills were still practised. It seemed that they were not fools after all. The edge of the blade felt icy against his skin, rather like a bleeding wound, but soon the feeling warmed. He turned his head to look at his attacker.

 

“Lady Sif, to what do I owe this pleasure?”

 

“I see you agreed to the impending marriage.” Sif kept her sword straight and steady. “You seem to be rather content for a man who will soon be signing his life away to another. Do you know something that I do not?”

 

“A great deal of things, I’m sure.”

 

He narrowed his eyes as his smile grew, and even though the chain forbade him from turning his head as he liked, he was still able to crane it just enough to give her a disturbingly dark gaze. He looked at her without moving his body. It was safe to say that she had never been one of his favourite people, one of those many love-struck women who fawned over Thor and rejected Loki with the same breath. She resented Loki. He had been an obstacle between her and Thor, and she had only ever been able to watch them from a distance whilst Loki whispered into his brother’s ear.

 

“Would you kindly remove your sword? _Please_.”

 

Sif had very little choice. The guards surrounding Loki had their weapons raised and aimed directly at her with great accuracy, and for good reason: this was a direct threat against their future king consort. They likely no more wanted to defend Loki than Sif wanted to withdraw her weapon, but they had been raised with a great respect for royalty and a dedication to duty that could rival their king. Sif lowered her weapon. They – in return – lowered theirs.

 

“The Allfather should have executed you when he had the chance,” Sif spat.

 

“Yes, I do believe that you may be right, however it seems to me that the problem is that you judge the monarch too much by the man. The Allfather is not infallible. He allowed me to live to save his queen’s heart, an admirable decision for the average man, but to allow a war criminal and traitor to live? For a king, it is unthinkable. Tell me, what king is it that can be both a good ruler _and_ a good man?”

 

“Thor.”

 

“Interesting that you would think so,” Loki said.

 

His smile was bitter. He kept his hands as low as the chain would allow, but they were still raised to his chest and he could lower them no further without compromising his head movements. It was hard to keep his green eyes from forming a glare, because with every breath he could feel the anger of indignation sore from within. It seemed that Thor’s supporters were naïve, refusing to see what Loki and Odin had seen so long ago, and – worst of all – no one seemed to think that Loki cared. He did.

 

There had always been contention between himself and his adoptive father, for it often felt as if _compromise_ meant _defeat_ , and so there was just one point to which they could agree: Thor was useful only as a figurehead. Thor was the one to inspire and lead, the one to give rousing speeches and stand as an example, but he had no understanding of politics. Yes, Loki would gladly condemn their father’s foolish choice in letting him live, but at least Loki’s condemnation showed a deeper understanding rather than a simple blind loyalty. He would never expect Thor’s friends to understand that. He would always be the villain to them.

 

Sif took a step back. She regarded Loki as one might a dangerous animal, and in that look she conveyed more emotion that any words could express. She stood slightly turned, as if she were preparing to pounce for an attack, and as she did so Loki noticed that she had worn her armour for this little surprise visit. The silver breastplate and armlets glittered in the light, whilst the red of her long gloves complemented her rather beautifully, and in such armour and boots she did not stand _like_ a man, but _equal_ to a man.

 

“I do not trust you,” she said.

 

“Then trust in Heimdall,” Loki replied. “He watches my every movement, although when my magic is at full-power I am sure that shall pose more of a problem. I wonder . . . is it me that you distrust or Thor’s future spouse?”

 

“What do you mean, Loki?”

 

“Nothing at all. I simply wonder if you treat Jane Foster the same way as you do me.”

 

“Lady Jane has done nothing to earn my distrust. _You_ on the other hand . . .”

 

Sif walked out from the shadows and came before the guards. There were two guards in front of Loki to either side, with three behind him in a triangular formation, and Sif – centre of attention – stood directly before Loki with an almost arrogant expression. She stood blocking the way to what once would have been Loki’s rooms, and as such he couldn’t help but feel frustrated to be blocked to what little sanctuary he had. It was just typical of one of Thor’s followers. He waited for her to speak in the hopes that once she had said her piece she would leave him alone.

 

Her hand upon her sword hilt tightened, whilst her eyes focused considerably upon Loki’s schooled and slightly conceited expression. It was unusual to see her without Thor or the Warriors Three by her side, clearly she had broken rules and protocol to lie in wait for Loki’s transfer from the dungeons to his private quarters, and there she stood as if trying to find the words to address the one person that had nearly destroyed the person she loved most of all. When she spoke her voice was low and hard.

 

“You tried to kill Thor.”

 

“Did I? Oh, I don’t think so,” Loki replied with rather devilish grin. “If I remember right, my attentions were elsewhere. It was _Thor_ who practically threw himself in front of my Destroyer. I like to consider it poetic justice. If he felt in that instant even _one thousandth_ of what I was forced to feel _my entire life_ , then I will consider what occurred a success. I did not mean for Thor to die, but I am glad for what happened.”

 

“You try to paint yourself as a hero?” Sif snapped, as the hand on her hilt twitched. “I know what you said to Thor! You accused him of throwing you to your death, but you were the one to let go! Will you truly claim to have not wished him harm that day?”

 

“Come now, what’s a little spat between two betrothed?”

 

“Now is not the time for jokes.”

 

Loki did not let his smile drop, but his eyes revealed his true emotion. He could not help but feel his blood run cold, or the way that his breath seemed to cease for a brief moment, and when he looked to Sif he felt an anger that was hard to suppress. There was not much that Loki could claim as his own, for even when he had his freedom his talents had often been pushed aside in favour of his brother, but his silver-tongue and mischievous humour had always been his alone. They were all he had left. The verbal sparring and little quips were all he had and to be denied those was almost painful.

 

“What did you intend to do that day?” Sif asked. “Did you intend to kill your brother? You would have abused your position of power to settle a childish grudge? I find it hard to believe you would willingly marry a man that you wished to kill.”

 

“There is nothing ‘willing’ about this marriage.”

 

“Then why did you agree to marry Thor? He deserves better than you.”

 

“All the more reason for me to agree then,” Loki spat bitterly. “I don’t see it any business of _yours_ why I would agree to marry that foolish man, but – given a choice between relative freedom and absolute imprisonment – I made the choice that any man would have made in my position. Thor may no longer be my brother, but I would not agree to this _solely_ to spite him. My reasons are my own, however.”

 

“What are you trying to tell me, Loki?”

 

Loki held his tongue. There was very little that could be said, because honesty was not an option to him. It wasn’t that he was averse to telling the truth, but simply that – when the world painted him to be a liar – even the truth would become a lie to ears blocked with spite. He knew that whatever he said would be dismissed as manipulations. He also did not wish to appear weak. It was true that Sif was loyal, strong and forgiving to a degree, but it was that loyalty that made her a threat.

 

If he were to marry Thor then he would need to win the respect of their people, something that would be impossible were they to know his weaknesses. That was the best-case scenario, too. The likelihood would be that Thor’s closest allies and companions would distrust him, they would see him as a serpent in the grass waiting to make its move, and so any honesty would reveal to them an emotional vulnerability. They would exploit that. He could not trust them not to use his fears to their advantage, using it to break him further and destroy him completely. It was a tactic that he had used in the past, and so it would be a form of poetic justice for them to use it now, although he would not give them the satisfaction.

 

“Did you mean for Thor to live?” Sif asked. “Are you truly claiming you never meant to kill Thor or myself with your actions? Did you mean to kill us?”

 

“ _Thor_? No. _You_? Yes.”

 

“And now?”

 

There was an awkward silence. Sif appeared to study his facial expressions intently and listened carefully to the tone of his voice, almost as if she sought to analyse him and determine the truth to his words. He didn’t give her the satisfaction of a sarcastic threat, because any cold words that _could_ be taken as being hostile _would_ be considered hostile. Instead he regarded her carefully, but in the end he settled for a subtle form of honesty. He did not wish to give her ammunition against him.

 

“I think your murder may just harm my case,” Loki said dryly.

 

Loki smiled and raised his hands. It wasn’t enough to appear threatening, but it brought her eyes to his handcuffs and collar. She could see the chain that restricted his movements, she could see the damage upon his hand, and she would know that he had not been tamed merely as he had been caged. It seemed that everything had changed and yet it still felt the same. He had not expected them to understand, but to _believe_ oneself to be worthless was a very different thing from _knowing_.

 

They blamed him for having the blood of the Jotun, for being jealous towards Thor, and for manipulating the actions of many in order to be seen in the best light. It felt unfair. He had spent his life searching for acknowledgement, but only _now_ did they interpret his actions as that of an evil man. He had been mischievous, yes, but he had never been cruel or sadistic in his actions, and he had always put his kingdom first, _more_ than what Thor had done. If he were a monster, it was only because they had _made_ him one. They had driven him into falling into the abyss . . . into madness . . .

 

Sif gave a long sigh, distracting Loki from his thoughts. She sheathed her sword and gave Loki a look of almost pity, perhaps seeing in him something that he himself was blind to, and in that darkness inside him she saw perhaps a light on the verge of being extinguished. It infuriated him to be pitied by someone who herself was pitiable, but he endured it as it seemed that she was finished with him. She turned her back on him.

 

“Very well,” Sif said indifferently. “I see there is no reasoning with you.”

 

“You may be right there,” Loki snapped. “How is it that someone like _you_ canfeel as if they have a right to judge _me_? Listen to me, Lady Sif, when you have spent a lifetime surrounded by those who despise you, when you have erred only to be cast into darkness for your mistake, when you scream so loud that your throat bleeds only for no one to come to your aid, for no one to _hear_ you . . . then I shall be _glad_ to tell you that your screams are unreasonable.”

 

“I see. You still seek revenge against perceived slights against you. I suppose then that you do not wish for a hen night to complement your betrothed’s stag? Here I thought that we were becoming good friends.”

 

“I am afraid that I shall have to decline such an invitation.”

 

Loki gave her a rather cold smile.

 

It was clear that it would be difficult indeed to win the trust of those closest to Thor, but that was perhaps to be expected. Still, to see Sif walk away from him was both infuriating and something of a relief. He still had so much that he wished to say, but to say it would only antagonise Sif and further her distrust. The quiet gave him time to reflect and time to take in his surroundings, free from judgement and fear of attack. It was when she found herself at the end of the corridor that she turned to him, and spoke those words that made his hands clench and blood boil:

 

‘ _Freedom is life’s great lie_.’

 

He jerked his hands hard out of instinct. The collar pulled harshly on his neck, which forced his head down and sent ripples of pain throughout his head and back. It took him a long moment to compose himself, but eventually he drew in a deep breath and returned to standing straight and tall, whilst the guard immediately behind him pressed him forward and commanded him to walk on. He continued onward as if he had not endured such an insult against his character.

 

The guards led him for what felt like a vast expanse of time, into what eventually became the private quarters of the royal family. Loki smiled as he walked past familiar door after familiar door. He walked past the door to what had once been his parents’ rooms, where he would run as a child to hide from bad dreams, only for his mother to escort him back to bed and sing him to sleep. He walked past Thor’s rooms, and remembered the times when he would use magic to cruelly awaken the older man from a drunken lie-in, which would often cause Thor to chase Loki out from his rooms with a roar. There was no denying this was far superior to his cell.

 

He smirked to see a faint scorch-mark upon Thor’s door that no amount of paint could fully conceal, and rolled his eyes at the memory of a certain someone’s sword ‘accidentally’ scratching the wall of his rooms in return. It was difficult to comprehend how Odin could so easily forget so many memories. Did he seek to bury the memory of his son so deeply that even the joyous recollections became a poison to his mind? It hurt Loki to know that he could be married as a stranger to someone that he had been raised with since childhood. It was a sharp rejection indeed.

 

“These will be your rooms for the upcoming week, Loki Laufeyson.”

 

Loki looked at the guard to his right and gave him a sceptical look. It felt a little insulting to be shown to his rooms, the rooms in which he had slept in since he had come of age, and be introduced to them as if he had never set foot in them before. He raised an eyebrow and gave a crooked smile, determined to remain polite and courteous despite the way the guard had spoken the obvious. He nodded as best as the chains would allow and tried not to glare.

 

“ _Thank you_ ,” he said coldly.

 

“We will release you from your chains.” The guard signalled for another to come closer with the keys. “You will remain in these rooms until the day of your wedding. If your presence is required elsewhere in the palace, you will be escorted by the guards stationed at your doors and you shall be placed in chains for your transfer.”

 

“Terrific. I feel at home already.”

 

The guard undid the handcuffs first, which was something of both a relief and a burden to Loki. It was reassuring to have his hands free again, to have the movement of his body unrestricted and the ache in his wrists relieved from the loss of such a heavy weight, but the chain upon his neck caused the weight to drop dead from his neck, which caused great pain. The guard seemed apologetic and at once grabbed the cuffs to relieve the strain, before he released the collar.

 

Loki let out a sound of absolute relief and cricked his neck to both sides. There was a part of him that wondered if he could somehow use what little magic he had left to escape, to run and avoid the marriage to come, but he knew that there was nowhere he could escape. The political union would provide him with some freedoms and a chance for redemption that his cell would have deprived him, and to run would only force him back into that dark imprisonment. He simply had to endure this week and the ceremony to come. If he could abide that, the rest would come easily.

 

The guards opened the doors to his rooms, which revealed the spacious living-area that he had often spent hours reading and studying within. He had missed the windows that stretched from one wall to another, so high that Loki had to crane his head to see the sky, with such light streaming through that to be inside sometimes felt better than to be without. The doors to both sides led to the bedroom, bathroom, and study, but within the room was everything that he was familiar with and everything that he had ever known. These were his rooms.

 

It was only when the doors closed he noticed he wasn’t alone.

 

He felt something break inside of him at the sight of her. It was impossible to hold back the slump of his shoulders or the gasp of air that left him, or even to refrain from taking that one shaky step forward towards her person. She looked as beautiful as ever. Her golden hair was spun upwards into an intricate bun, whilst her long locks trailed behind her as she stood up. It was hard not to admire her rosy skin or her silken blue dress. Loki noticed the breast-armour and metal arm-guards, as well as the sword by her side, but she knew – as much as Loki – that she had nothing to fear from him.

 

“Loki, my son . . .”

 

“ _Mother_.”

 

Loki took several steps forward, whilst his mother all but ran towards him. He hadn’t even realised that he had been crying until she embraced him; her arms wrapped tightly around him as he felt the tension ease from his soul, and as he held her in return he could feel the tears fall. _It was real_! He had missed this human contact, the ability to ease his loneliness for just one moment in time, and he had missed _this_ most of all. His mother had been the only person to show him love in all his life, and just to be able to hold her – to say _thank you_ – meant more to him than his very freedom. He didn’t want to let go. He couldn’t. What if he let go and she left him, too?

 

He felt her hair soft and gentle against his cheek, the scent of honey and perfumes that wafted through his senses so familiar that it was as if he had never left her, and suddenly memories of being carried in her arms came back to him. He remembered the way she read to him as a child, the way her hands would manipulate his as she patiently taught him spell after spell, and the way she would brush her hair softly as Loki told her in excitement about the day he had and the things he had seen. She alone had ever stood by him. She was his mother.

 

“Hush, Loki. Why are you crying?”

 

She placed her hands against his chest and pushed him away just slightly. It was painful for Loki to see her face so wet with tears, with her cheeks flushed and her lips that trembled with emotion, but to see her smile through that was enough to reassure him that she did not hate him. She seemed overcome with emotion. Her eyes darted about his face and person, almost as if she could not believe he were real, and then she began to cry in earnest as she raised a handkerchief to wipe her son’s face.

 

“You have no idea how happy I am to see you,” she said through her tears. “I was so relieved when I spoke to you, when I found out that you were alive. You do not know what it is like to lose a son. It was as if a part of me had died with you. I had to put on false smiles during feasts, during your wake, and I had to be strong for Thor and for your fa- . . . my husband. It nearly destroyed me. I wept nightly.”

“I am so sorry, Mother. I wanted to come back, I did, but –”

 

“Hush, child, hush. I do not want to hear about the pain you must have felt to fall as you did, because your pain is _my_ pain. That you would choose death over the truth of who you were and what that meant . . . I should have done more! I told him from the start that we should have been honest with you. I’m so sorry, Loki. I’m so sorry!”

 

The tears continued to flow from Loki’s eyes. It was difficult to see her and he could not help but to swallow hard the emotions that threatened to break out, and suddenly he was relieved for the use of his limbs, because he could not help but touch her cheeks and shoulders for reassurance that she was there. He owed his life to her. She had not only raised him, taught him the skills he had needed for survival, but she had been the one to plead to the Allfather for him to live when everyone had been set upon his death. The sheer awe and love he felt for her could not be expressed.

 

He took her hand and held it tightly in his own, his grip preventing her from wiping away any more tears. The smile on his lips was sincere. He placed a kiss to her fingers and then found himself smiling aimlessly, it was as if he were a child again, because in her presence all the pain he felt seemed a distant memory and in her arms he felt safe. He could deny everyone that had once been his ‘family’, but not her. Never her.

 

“I never thanked you,” Loki said sadly.

 

“What for?”

 

She let out a shuddered breath and pressed her free hand to his cheek. It was a simple touch, one that reminded Loki of the times when Thor would take a hold of him to show affection, but her touch was different: it was something born of pure motherly love. There was no slightly aggressive tone to it or the inappropriate proximity that Thor tended to exhibit. It was simple gesture of love. It meant nothing more or less, and yet in that instant it felt more meaningful than all of Thor’s gestures combined.

 

“ _For everything_ ,” he confided warmly. “For everything.”

 

They looked at each other for a long while, before Frigga let out a long and heavy breath and then gently took both of Loki’s hands in her own. There was so much that he wanted to say to her, so much that he had to apologise for and wanted to confess, but – most of all – he wanted her advice and her wisdom. He wanted to ask her what it meant to be married, what would be expected of him, what she felt of it all . . .

 

He knew that she would gladly cling to anything that would give Loki a chance for survival, but at the same time . . . she saw Loki as a _son_ , she saw Loki and Thor as _brothers . . ._ he did not want his mother to see him as someone dirty and disgusting, in a marriage that felt quasi-incestuous, and especially when he was powerless to prevent it. It was possible that she was willing to overlook such factors, being that there was no blood between them, merely as she loved Loki too much to allow him to rot in a cell, but it was also possible that she saw something he didn’t. He felt afraid to ask. She was the only person left that loved him and to lose that would be unbearable.

 

“Come,” she said gently, “I want to show you what you shall be wearing.”

 

Frigga gently led him across the room to where a long sofa lay. It was adorned with a fur throw that Thor had gifted to Loki one birthday, one that was both beautiful and practical, and one that Thor had made himself from a kill from a hunt. It had been something of a backhanded gift, however, as the words his brother had uttered were along the lines of ‘I know you could never catch such a perfect beast, so I have done you the great favour of catching the animal for you’.

 

“I hope you do not mind,” Frigga said with a slightly nervous smile, “but I chose your wedding attire for you in your absence. I chose according to your tastes, although I admit that I may have allowed my personal preferences to shine through. When you are ready we shall have the tailors adjust it as needed. I do hope you like it.”

 

Loki looked down to the robes, armour and helmet upon the sofa.

 

She had chosen perfectly. He should have expected as much, because no one knew him better than the woman that had raised him, but to see the emerald green robes of such fine material was enough to make his eyes well up again. The helmet was his usual horned one often used for formal events, but the armour she had chosen was a more stylised and intricate form, with patterns of vines running along the edges, in a style that seemed to speak as much of her personality as it did his. He reached down to touch upon a metal arm-guard and smiled warmly.

 

“This has been waiting for you for two days now. I knew the moment that the choice was put to you that you would make the right decision, I never doubted you for a moment. To think that we only have a week to prepare!”

 

“It is perfect. Thank you.”

 

“We have so much to decide for the ceremony and for the reception,” Frigga stated with a hint of excitement. “I know that this is not exactly a dream scenario for you, but I can not let myself be brought down with negativity when I have been blessed with a second-chance with my youngest son! If you can not be excited, then please let me be excited for the both of us.”

 

“Does this not _disgust_ you?”

 

“Never! Nothing you could do would ever disgust me.” Her voice was stern and left no room for argument. “It is fine for me to consider you my son, because as an in-law you would be such anyway, but I shall tell you a secret . . . you will always be my son, regardless of blood or marriage or any other ties. Would I rather you marry for love? Yes, that I shall not deny. I also cannot deny that Thor will treat you well and that this marriage will let us be a family once more. You can do worse than Thor.”

 

“You never cease to amaze me.”

 

He wondered if her acceptance would continue if the issue of an heir were to ever arise, for at the moment they were merely two men playing house, each with their own agendas and motives for this political union, but one day that may not be enough. There would be war, too. Loki anticipated how all eyes would be on him, waiting for the inevitable betrayal of his people, and he expected that this would distract them from strategy and battle. He wondered how she would feel then.

 

It was a relief to see her contented, but – as much as she threw herself into the events with the excitement typical of a mother – it seemed to be only a trivial distraction. They had spoken at length during her few stolen visits to his cell, but it seemed that there was still much more to say, things that he had felt unimportant until this moment. She tried to distract herself from her son’s pain by throwing herself into the upcoming celebrations. He could not deny her that. He could not deny her anything.

 

“Where is Thor, Mother?”

 

Loki looked away from the clothing to his mother. It was too painful to look at the clothing laid out upon the sofa, because it served as a visual reminder of the obligation that lay ahead of him, a duty that he could not escape. It was easier to look to his mother, to use her as an anchor for all that he felt and as a symbol for hope, but when he looked to her he could not help but see Thor within her. He saw the other man’s boundless optimism and vast innocence. He saw those same feelings and wondered in that instant how Thor felt, if he were abiding this better or fearful to an extent that would put even Loki’s feelings to shame. Where was Thor?

 

“I have not seen him since he came to my cell with the Allfather,” Loki said. “If Odin Borson can deign to stop by the cells of a mere prisoner, surely Thor can spare a moment to speak to his future spouse?”

 

“It is tradition not to see one’s betrothed the week before the wedding,” Frigga said with a voice that shook with pain. “Thor also expressed a desire to have this week to himself, to enjoy his last few moments as an unmarried man and to come to terms with what is to come, and I think that it is wise that you do not see him. It would only confuse matters and perhaps cause doubts in your mind.”

 

“I would like to speak to him. I need to know what he thinks of all this.”

 

“Thor loves you dearly, Loki, but you must realise that as much as he wishes for his brother to return to him, he believes that all hope for that is lost. He cannot trust you. I believe he agreed to marry you to stop my tears and bring you back to me, but I also think that somewhere – deep within – he believes that the Loki he once knew may somehow respond to our love. He feels conflicted. He longs for the man that he lost, but he is unsure if he will find that man again.”

 

Loki stood silent for a moment. He wondered if she knew the impact that her words had upon him, whether she realised the fear and anger that existed within her youngest son’s heart. It was painful enough to be forced into such a decision, as if his wishes no longer mattered, but to then be slighted by Thor . . . to be told that Thor would rather be alone than to discuss the inevitable union . . . it was a confirmation of his worst fears. He was not worth talking to.

 

He looked to the wedding apparel and wondered what Thor would wear, if perhaps he had talked at length with their mother so that their outfits would complement one another, or if Thor even cared about what he wore at all. There was no denying that Thor had sacrificed a lot for him. He had thrown away a chance at a union with Jane and he would be tied to a man that he could not trust. Still, did that mean that Thor considered him to be an equal or worthy of respect? No. He acted merely out of duty towards one he considered a brother and the one that was his mother.

 

Loki walked away from the sofa and moved towards the window. The glass ran from the floor below to so high above that it seemed to reach to the heavens, and from his window he could see their city in all its glory. The sky outside began to darken, with vast shades of red and purple that merged into the skyline, and as Loki watched he felt himself awed by the beauty of the lights, and he wondered where Thor was this night. 

 

“If he is waiting for me to ‘come to my senses’, then he may be sorely disappointed,” Loki snapped. “I am the same man I have always have been. Nothing has changed. He is merely seeing me for what I really am, rather than what he wanted me to be.”

 

“You are in pain. You act out to ease your suffering. The state of pain is not a natural one, my son, but one that tells us that something is wrong. Odin believes that you acted from ill intent, but a mother knows her son better than any other, and I know that you acted from the devastation in your heart. It is my hope that our love can ease your pain and cure your suffering. You will come back to us, I am sure of it.”

 

“This would be easier if I could just speak to Thor. I need to know what he thinks of me and what he expects of me.” Loki continued to look out as Frigga came behind him. “I tried to kill him not once, but _multiple_ times, there is no plausible way for him to trust me. The first time was half-felt, but the others . . .”

 

“Your emotions were manipulated, Loki.”

 

“Were they?”

 

He turned to look at her. His expression was filled with sorrow. It was a comfort to have her close to him, but at the same time he felt alone in his pain, for this was something that she could not understand and would never experience. He felt an acute sense of isolation. It was not like when he had been shoved to the sidelines, but more like what he experienced in that lonely cell, where he had so much rage in his heart and no way to express it. It felt as if he had traded one cell for another. He felt alone.

 

“They merely magnified what was already there,” Loki confessed, “with the underlying threat of torture pushing me further forward, and so can you truly say – for absolute certainty – that I did not _want_ him dead? Even I do not know what it was that I intended! How can he trust me when I cannot say for certain that I wouldn’t have done the same thing, regardless of the circumstances that I was in?”

 

“He loves you, Loki, is that not enough?” Frigga held tight onto her son’s shoulders and tried to comfort him as best as she could. “Trust can be earned, and you will earn his trust and prove yourself to be the man that I know you to be. Listen to me, my son; give me your hand, and listen.”

 

Frigga turned her son around to face him.

 

She gave a smile that seemed to suggest that she was hiding just as many emotions as Loki felt, but – like Loki – felt as if that she could not express them. Her hands ran down his arms before they took a hold of his own, where she then lifted them high and held them firmly with affection, but her touch was painful to his wound. He winced. She saw his reaction to her touch and looked down to his hand, and then her smile was washed away with more unshed tears.

 

She saw the blood upon his knuckles and the deep cuts upon the back of his hand, and then – as she turned his palm gently – she caught the harsh wince across Loki’s features and felt him instinctively try to pull away. She held fast to him. She looked down to the many cuts on his inner hand, cuts that were violent and edged with purple and blue, bruised from where whatever edged blade had been pulled into them, and she must have realised in that moment that such a wound was self-inflicted. Even if she never saw the broken table in his old cell, even if she had never heard the stories of his regularly bleeding feet or violent tempers, she would have known that he had done such damage to himself. She would have known, because she knew _him_.

 

“Oh, Loki,” Frigga said with a sad sigh. “You were locked in a cell with a bare modicum of furniture, you were given no sharp objects or weapons, and yet you still managed to damage your body in this way. The guards told me that you often threw and destroyed furniture, that your body was often bruised and sometimes bloody, but I thought that they exaggerated as guards are prone to do.”

 

“The guards had no part in this,” Loki said in their defence. “They treated me as they would any prisoner, with the same respect and indifference they would give to any man. I acted as anyone would in my situation. I lashed out at the only person I could.”

 

“Not any more, Loki.”

 

Frigga let go of his hand and gave him a rather angry expression. It was to be expected, with all things considered, because Loki had once thrown himself into the abyss and another time threw himself from a building with only half-a-hope of landing onto an oncoming craft, and his injuries were not exactly secret from the people who came past his cell and saw him laying with nothing but his sorrow for company. She loved Loki too much to see him hurt.

 

“Come, let me clean your wound.”

 

“Yes, we wouldn’t want the blood to clash with my outfit.”

 

“Do not be obstinate, Loki. We will delay the fitting and alterations until tomorrow, but for today you will clean your wound and spend time with your mother. I want to tell you about all you have missed, I want you to tell me all that you feel, and together it will be as if there has not been an absence at all. You are not alone, Loki. You will let me fuss over you, because that is the least you deserve.”

 

It was hard to argue with someone that held such a beautiful and sincere smile, who treated him with such infinite kindness. She treated him with a respect that so few others did, but she also gave him a love that he had been lacking all his life, and in her company he felt as if that there were no shame in showing emotion. He felt safe. He wished for a way to pay her back for such kindness, but even if he could she would never have accepted anything from him, claiming that to be called ‘Mother’ was a gift in itself. She loved him without expecting anything in return.

 

“ _Thank you_ ,” he said. 

 

 

 

****


	4. Chapter 4

# Chapter Four

****

_‘Today is a most auspicious day._

_‘It is a day that we unite not only two souls, but two nations, two realms that have each stood opposed and now stand connected. The Jotun race stands proud and strong, with a fiery independence to be envied, and we hope to learn from their kind as much as we in turn hope to give. We are proud and true. We are forgiving and understanding. We shall aspire to inspire, and from the seed of this union we shall grow and we shall prosper._

_‘Today it is our honour to witness the marriage between our prince, our son, Thor Odinson, and his betrothed, a prince of Jotunheim, Loki Laufeyson. These two men have stood side-by-side for centuries, men in arms that fought for the same causes and brought to many rights unimagined, and what each may lack the other provides. They complement each other well, just as the realms of Asgard and Jotunheim shall one day do, and they shall together make strong what would alone be weak. We cannot stand alone. We cannot exist alone. They shall stand as an example of what partnership, forgiveness, and sacrifice can bring._

_‘This is a day that shall live eternally in history. We shall –’_

Loki rolled his eyes at the speech.

 

He could picture it now: Odin would stand behind the altar, where he would place one hand on either side of the bowl upon the smooth surface, and there the flames from the ornamental bowl would cast shadows upon the lines of his face. To his far right would stand Frigga and Lady Sif, both in ceremonial attire, whilst to his far left would stand the Warriors Three in full armour. The people of their realm would sit in the crowds around the platform, whilst his words would fill the hall with great projection.

 

The hall would be decorated with vibrant shades of gold and silver, with perhaps a few shades of green throughout as a concession to Loki’s personal tastes. The lack of a ceiling over the altar area would allow natural light to stream through, allowing for the semi-circle of people seated on either side of the aisle to witness the full force of nature, which would make the altar seem to glow and radiate with beauty. It would be all so romantic. It would be a ceremony fit for a future king, one that was to be expected from a supposed political union between two princes, and Loki would no doubt feel the eyes of thousands upon him when the doors eventually opened to reveal him standing beside his ‘betrothed’. He had honestly never in his life pictured his wedding day, but now it was upon him he felt a sense of dread.

 

This had always been something meant for Thor. He was the one that would one day become king, the one that all the family’s hopes and dreams were placed upon, and the one that would need to provide an heir and stand as an example for their realm. Loki had never – in all his life – thought that he would be the one to be standing before these grand doors, doors that acted as the only barrier between his life as a free man and his new life as a man chained to Thor. Those doors would soon open. They would open and then there would be nothing to stop the marriage, nothing to prevent their union, and Loki would begin a new life in unseen chains.

 

“Ah, Loki, I apologise for my tardiness!”

 

Loki closed his eyes and counted to five in his mind. It was difficult to remain calm when he had to keep his hands clasped in front of him just to refrain from shaking, and more so when he could hear his heart beating like a military drum in his ears. It was difficult enough to stand waiting for the doors to open, but worse when – for a brief moment – he had feared being stood up like some jilted bride by the one person that had sworn to always stand by his side.

 

He opened his eyes with a heavy sigh and kept his gaze focussed hard upon the golden doors, with each one engraved with beautifully intricate designs that would put even the greatest artisans to shame. To his right side he sensed the motion of the man that had once been his brother. Thor adjusted his outfit as several servants, including two of Loki’s guards, guided him to his mark and helped him into his metal-feathered helmet. It seemed that Thor struggled to remember his place. No sooner had he been positioned perfectly would he take a step back or a step forward, sometimes just adjusting his footing to face Loki better for an oncoming conversation, but no matter how he moved he would always be moved back.

 

“This fussing -!” Thor snapped. “I have not been left alone all morn.”

 

“Is that right? All these servants and not _one_ to tell you the time . . . amazing.”

 

“Come now! I made it on time, did I not?”

 

Thor slapped Loki’s back playfully. It was quite a strong gesture, especially when Loki had always been more academically inclined, and it sent him hurtling forward a few steps. The past few months spent in confinement had not helped him in maintaining his strength, as exercise had been limited to pacing in his cell, and so he could not help but glare harshly as he shrugged his shoulders and forced himself back to his mark. He felt more like an actor playing a part than a man about to be married.

 

“ _Your_ father began his speech almost six minutes ago,” Loki said with anger seeping through into an almost venomous tone. “You are lucky he is so long-winded, else I may have been left standing here alone when the doors opened.”

 

“You worry too much. You always have done.”

 

“You know that a man who is late for his wedding,” Loki continued sharply, “will probably be late for his funeral. Do you have _any_ idea how _humiliating_ it is to be kept waiting like this? I am not standing here out of choice, Thor. I was forced here in order to win my freedom, and then you – _you_ – think that is kind to keep me waiting and make me fear for the worst. I would be back in prison without you.”

 

“I am doing you a _favour,_ Brother, you would do well to show me some respect for such a sacrifice,” Thor said firmly, before he knotted his eyebrows awkwardly and gave a sigh. “I am sorry, I mean ‘ _Loki_ ’ . . .”

 

“So I am to be expected to forever wait upon you, is that it?”

 

“That is not what I meant and you know it! It is strange to me, because after this day I cannot deny the truth behind my father’s words: I am no longer your brother. In my heart I feel different, but from this day forth you shall be simply ‘Husband’. It seems bizarre that I must lose my brother in order to save him.”

 

“Well, we all must pay a price for freedom.”

 

Loki turned his head to look upon his fiancé. The expression upon Thor’s face was a look of sorrowful resignation, with his blue eyes focussed upon an invisible spot on the floor, and yet he also wore a smile of sorts. It was not often that Loki saw such deep emotion across the other’s face, because Thor was a man who preferred simpler feelings and to express himself clearly. He was not one for deep reflection or internal debate. He was what he seemed.

 

It appeared that Thor was content with his choice, because it would enable his brother to be free and would not change their lives too drastically, but the pain his eyes – the slight downturn to his smile – spoke clearly of a pain that would not easily be erased. Loki wondered if Thor thought of Jane, if perhaps he considered this ‘union’ to be a form of betrayal to the first and only person that he had ever given his heart, but then it was difficult to say when they had not shared a single conversation since his release from the dungeons. It was frustrating that Thor had not spoken to him, because without those words it was like he had been sentenced to marry a stranger.

 

Loki drew in a deep breath and looked to Thor properly. Thor had – at the very least – taken his wedding attire seriously indeed, to the extent that many would have swooned or been considered lucky to have to wed to such a man. He had worn his blond hair loose about his shoulders, but had styled it well and kept it tidy, and his armour was made of what appeared to be solid gold, but kept into his usual style so as to express his personality. The cape upon his back was a vivid crimson, whilst his trousers and clothing were silvery in shade. He looked good.

 

“I must admit,” said Loki begrudgingly, “that you look very handsome.”

 

“Truly? You tease me so much for my apparel that I rarely know if you are jesting or sincere, but if you mean it seriously then I thank you. I did not want to embarrass you by looking less than my best. This is your day, too.”

 

“Oh, Thor, such romance! Do you mean to say it’s _our_ special day?”

 

“There! That is why I can never take you seriously!”

 

“Because of my undying admiration for you?”

 

Loki raised a hand to his heart and turned to bat his eyelashes. It was almost too natural to fall back into their old patterns, their familiar routines, but there was something comforting about knowing that – despite all hardships – they would always hold some affection for one another. It was a gentle teasing with no cruelty behind it, a way of bonding really. Loki could almost fool himself into believing that nothing had changed at all, if he teased just enough.

 

“Yes,” Thor laughed. “Stop it!”

 

He hit Loki on the arm in a playful manner, but this time with such gentle force that Loki wasn’t knocked over or bruised from the action. He then brought his hand up to grasp tightly around the back of the dark-haired man’s neck, before he laughed through his nose and dropped his hand away, and – as he shook his head in disbelief – Loki was sure that he caught a flicker of genuine emotion from his soon-to-be husband. He forgot, for a moment, about what lay on the other side of the door.

 

It was then that Loki noticed how Thor fidgeted. He twisted his wrists to adjust his chain-mail vambraces, and he moved from heel to toe as if seeking to relieve pressure on his feet from the knee-length boots. Loki knew that Thor disliked formal attire, especially ceremonial clothing, but in the past week he should have been fitted many times for his outfit, enough to stop it from irritating him. It was one thing to think that Thor had been too busy with preparations to talk to him, but if it had turned out that the young prince had shunned talks _and_ preparations to party . . . well, Loki was sure that he had been allowed _just enough_ magic to turn Thor’s mead into horse piss.

 

“I am not sure how Father could have ever worn this,” Thor said awkwardly. “I thought it a great honour when he offered me this outfit; it is the same outfit that he wore to his wedding with Mother, but now I think he just wanted me to suffer as he must have suffered. Still, to win a sincere compliment from _you_ -! It may just be worth the discomfort after all.”

 

“Wait . . . you are wearing what your _father_ wore to _his_ wedding?”

 

“Of course! Why do you ask?”

 

Loki shook his head and raised his hand to his temple, because – with the stress of the imminent wedding – he had an awful headache, but one that also threatened to become an outright migraine. He cast Thor a dark look that spoke of exasperation. Thor returned it with an annoyed expression of his own, as both men remained silent and waited for the other to realise what they meant. It was Loki who broke the silence.

 

“You are marrying the man that you once considered your brother,” Loki said in an oddly calm manner. “You were raised with him from birth. He wears an outfit chosen by your mother, who – I may add – still considers him to be her son, whilst you stand in the exact outfit that your father wore on his wedding day to said mother, and you – _you_ – see nothing at all wrong with that?”

 

“No, I do not. What reason should I to find fault?”

 

“ _Wow_.”

 

Loki shook his head and gave a dark smile. This was an awkward and disconcerting event, to say the least, but made worse by how Thor appeared not to notice anything wrong in the slightest. It was clear that Odin disliked Loki . . . to be told that he was a mere creature, to be told that he had been _born to die_ , as if he should be grateful to even exist . . . it was a wonder that the elderly man could _bear_ such a ceremony.

 

Their mother – no, _Thor’s_ mother – had been forbidden from visiting Loki, with her visits existing merely in illusion and magic, although both had to admit that it was an open secret, a hidden truth that all already knew. She could not stay away from her son, no matter what her husband commanded. It was perhaps only Odin’s love for Frigga that had prevented him from finding ways to temper her magic, and certainly only his love for his wife that allowed him to even _consider_ allowing the ‘prisoner’ out of his cage for any reason whatsoever. Loki had not spoken to Odin since he gave him an answer, but surely the older man had spoken to Thor?

 

“Thor,” Loki said coldly, “do you trust your father?”

 

“I trust him completely. Why do you ask?”

 

“Do you know what he said to me when he brought me in chains before him? I had chains from collar to handcuff, from handcuffs to fetters, and from fetters to the two guards at either side of me . . . he sent away our mother, he spoke to me like a common criminal . . . he told me that I was born solely to die. He said that I should have died that day. He then threw me in the dungeons to rot.”

 

“I do not understand what –”

 

“You were only allowed to visit me once you and our mother had worked out this insane plan, but even then the Allfather only allowed it to appease his people and soften his queen’s laments. He wanted me dead. The only reason he _didn’t_ kill me is because I asked for him to . . . you think that he wants what is best for us, but are you sure? I see him hoping that I will die on the battlefield and thus the marriage will be over before it has begun, or that he hopes my ties to you will end your ties to Jane Foster. It is better to marry an ‘Asgardian’ than a mortal, after all.”

 

“This is a conversation that can wait for some other time.”

 

“Yes, for _after_ the damage is done?”

 

Loki looked down at his hands. He could almost feel the handcuffs still on his wrists, as well as the sting of his battle wounds and the cold glare of the Allfather’s eyes. His magic had been his only luxury, a way of masking his weakened body to his mother on her visits, and – other than his books – he only had the cries of his fellow prisoners for company. It felt as if he were not gaining freedom, but the _illusion_ of freedom permitted by a man with hidden agendas.

 

Loki was loath to admit it, but he shared many qualities with Odin Borson, including his silvery tongue and warlike thinking. He _could_ suspect the old king, because he _knew_ how the old king thought. Odin would need to soothe the political tensions within his kingdom, a union being the most effective way of doing so, but he would also wish to appease his queen. He would also seek to prevent any unwanted relationships between Thor and an unworthy person of questionable descent. Loki was certain that Odin would have pushed for a marriage with Sif were things not currently as they were, but one thing was for certain: Thor could not rule with Jane at his side.

 

“Now is not the time for serious discussion, Loki,” Thor snapped. “We are to be married in mere minutes. I would rather begin the ceremony with a smile than a frown, if it is all the same to you.”

 

“We could have discussed this before now,” Loki replied sharply. “I noticed that you weren’t exactly in a hurry to see me, but that is understandable. It must have been _exhausting_ all that effort you put into asking about me and visiting me. Tell me, where were you all this time? Drinking with Volstagg? Flirting with Sif?”

 

“It was my stag night! You know that such celebrations can last for many days.”

 

“I spent a _year_ away from home, _months_ in prison, and you can not even spend _one day_ to put my mind at rest about what is to come? It seems strange that you would want to celebrate this day anyway. Is there something you know that I do not?”

 

Loki noticed that the servants had scattered. There was a part of him that hoped it was to avoid the anger and wrath of the two men, but he knew that in reality it was merely because the speech would soon be at an end. He could hear a roar of applause from within the grand hall. The cheers and cries seemed to echo all around them and filled Loki’s head with an almost painful noise, and then the din quietened down and he thought he heard Odin begin to recite the prayers necessary to begin.

 

In the meantime Thor let out a nervous laugh, as he raised his hand high to signal to the guards behind them to take a step to the side. They would stay within close distance, just in case Loki changed his mind and decided an eternity in prison would be preferable to life in a political marriage, but they would step aside in order to give the _illusion_ of freedom. No one would see the guards once the doors opened. They would merely see two men – both dressed formally and immaculately – side by side, that would then walk in unison down the silver-carpeted aisle to the altar to swear their vows. It would look elegant, perhaps romantic, but it would not look staged.

 

“You sound like an old housewife already,” Thor said with a smile.

 

“Then I will be sure to nag you until I get an answer,” Loki continued. “You are about to marry someone that you can not trust in the least, someone who is now acting as a barrier between you and true love. Why do you seem so happy?”

 

“Loki, this may well be the only wedding that I get.”

 

Thor looked to one side at the younger man. It would be difficult for him to talk honestly with guards around, even if they took their duties seriously and never spoke a word about the things they heard, but Thor seemed to express in gestures what he could not in words. His smile was a sad one, a smile that seemed to speak of faraway memories that were both pleasant and painful. He appeared to be looking for something within Loki that Loki was incapable of giving. He seemed to be searching for the brother that he had lost, but – what he saw now – Loki did not know.

 

“I will not deny that I dream of Jane’s forgiveness,” Thor admitted. “I thought that I would visit Earth to ask for her hand, not to tell her that I now held the hand of another, but what is done is done. Father seems to think that war with Jotunheim will come very soon into the close future . . .”

 

“You are aware he likely plans for me to die in battle?”

 

“I think that he may be mistaken,” Thor continued. He sent a dark glare to Loki and pretended as if he had never heard. “You cannot be freed completely until you prove yourself trustworthy, but there are too few ways to do that when the crimes you committed were so grave. I do not think that father plans for you to die in battle, because to do so would destroy our mother’s heart. If you think that your death is the only way to make amends –”

 

“I either die and you become free of me, or I prove myself in battle and the marriage may stand a chance at annulment, but if war will not come for some time . . . this seems more like an opportunity to mourn than to celebrate.”

 

“If the war takes too long to come, then an annulment may not be possible.”

 

Loki remained silent for a long moment. It was possible that Thor told the truth, that perhaps his father sought to have Loki make amends and prove his worth on the battlefield, rather than to die an ‘honourable’ death. The only certainty was that Odin had a prisoner that he needed rid of for his son’s sake, but whether that came through death or redemption had yet to be seen, with both being almost one and the same in the old king’s eyes. It all hinged upon the war though, which had still yet to come.

 

The greatest fear was that the war would not come for some time. It would mean that their relationship would have time to become accepted within the mind of the public, in which case any annulment or severing of ties would reflect badly upon both. The worst-case scenario would be the expectation of an heir, in which case – should one occur – the relationship would be sealed forever and there would be no end in sight except for death itself. Loki hated Thor in that moment. He hated him for having spent his time ignoring the problem, as if it were something that could wait, because now there was no backing out. They had agreed to this blindly.

 

Thor seemed to look sadly to the doors, awaiting their opening. Yes, if this were the only wedding that he would have, it was understandable that Thor would want to celebrate the occasion and distract himself from the regret, but Loki wanted – _needed_ – some form of an answer. They both did. The air between them was thick with tension, each one needing to say a thousand or more words that there simply wasn’t time to say, and as much as they wanted to forget the past . . . they couldn’t.

 

“That is not a depressing thought at all,” Loki said dryly.

 

“It could be worse. There is still the kiss that will end the ceremony.”

 

Loki grimaced childishly, which caused Thor to burst into a fit of laughter. The blond-haired man seemed to relish in the ability to laugh, because it broke the dark realisations and freed him for a moment, and his laughter actually forced Loki to give a small grin in turn. One of the guards winced at the heavy sound, surprised by the sudden and spontaneous act, whilst another respectfully gestured for quiet, so as not to draw attention from the crowd outside those doors and ruin the Allfather’s speech.

 

“You know exactly what to say to make everything better,” Loki said sarcastically.

 

“It took your mind off the future, did it not?” Thor replied with a bright smile. “Look, they will not expect a deep or romantic kiss, if anything that would only disturb those closest to us, especially those who still see us as brothers.”

 

“So what . . . a kiss on the cheek, a peck on the lips? Wonderful.”

 

“You make it sound as if we have never kissed before!”

 

It was hard to remain calm in the face of his betrothed’s stupidity. He wondered if Thor acted as he did towards Loki simply to rile him and provoke a reaction, or if he sincerely meant what he said and did so with the innocence that it seemed to be intended. Loki turned his head to the other man and gave him a very hard look. He kept his green eyes narrow and allowed his smile to leave him almost entirely, whilst thinking back to all the times that Thor fell for his lies, as he hoped that he wasn’t falling for some sort of trick himself. This was not a conversation he wanted to have.

 

“Those were platonic kisses between two brothers,” Loki said firmly. “There is a _very_ large difference between a kiss on the forehead when relieved, or a peck on the cheek in greeting, especially when compared to a kiss upon the lips at a _wedding_ ceremony before _thousands_ of our people. I refuse to go through with this marriage if you think that they are at all one and the same! It feels like a violation enough as it is.”

 

“Well, there was that one time . . .”

 

“It’s clear that you exercise every muscle but your brain,” Loki snapped back. “If you’re referring back to the battle in Jotunheim, then it seems we are remembering those events very differently indeed.”

 

“Not at all! You were struck a hard blow, if I remember rightly. You had passed out upon the snow, you looked so broken and bloody, you had begun to turn icy blue –”

 

“I wonder _why_.”

 

“I thought you were dead! I remember crying out in fury, whilst Sif and Volstagg held off the oncoming soldiers, and then I told you that your death would not be in vain and placed a kiss upon your lips . . . of course you woke up and told me that it was not polite to take advantage of the dead, and that my breath smelled of rotten cheese, but the fact remains that it was a kiss. Platonic, yes, but still a kiss.”

 

Loki rolled his eyes with a smile. The truth was that in the past thousand or so years they had shared so much, with every milestone being passed together as they grew older and wiser, and it was hard to forget the battles that they fought or the parties they celebrated. He remembered how cold that day had felt, the fear that he would die when his skin turned blue in the snow, but if he had known then what he did today then he may have allowed himself to die. In retrospect it should have been so obvious.

 

Thor slapped Loki on the back with a laugh, which would have ordinarily annoyed the younger man, but this time it reminded him that there was perhaps still hope for his future. He loathed Odin, even as he desperately sought for some approval and acceptance, but through it all Frigga and Thor had treated him the same way that they had from the moment of his birth. He occasionally threw barbs to Thor – who seemed intent to drive him to insanity – but ultimately nothing had changed. They may not have trusted him, but they did love him. It was moments like these – despite his feelings of being trapped or second-best – that he felt as if perhaps things could return to the way that they once were, that there could be love again.

 

“I give up,” Loki conceded. “There is no reasoning with you.”

 

_‘Prince Thor, Prince Loki?’_

A servant entered by their side with a tray in hand. Loki noted that they were perfectly dressed, in robes that were a shade of silver that fitted well with the overall colour scheme. He almost envied them, for at least they were without overly ornate helmets or confining armour, and – most of all – they had their freedom and served merely out of a desire to do so. The tray in their hand appeared to contain two large glasses of wine, both red and likely highly rare and expensive vintages.

 

“Your presence will be required in a few minutes,” the servant explained. “I am here to offer you one last drink before the doors open. The doors shall open once the final prayer is complete and the applause begins.”

 

“Is that right?” Loki asked. “Thank you.”

 

Thor politely refused the drink with a raise of his hand. Loki, however, snatched the glass from the tray and downed its contents. Its taste was delicious, but yet it felt oddly bitter upon his tongue and scorched his throat on the way down, and as he drank he could feel Thor’s eyes upon him. It was hard to be anything but self-conscious as he swallowed continuously, but the drink gave him the courage that he hadn’t until that moment realised he had been lacking. Loki threw the glass to the floor with a smash once finished and shooed the servant away with a violent gesture.

 

“No tricks this time?” Thor asked. “No snakes? No oil? No wine that mysteriously disappears once it touches one’s lips? I’m a little disappointed.”

 

“I am that sure I will have a _lifetime_ to surprise you.”

 

_‘- Thor Odinson and Loki Laufeyson.’_

The doors opened wide and the applause began. It was an almost deafening roar that caused Loki to regret having ever agreed to such a decision, not least because every clap and cheer seemed to merge into the next, creating a cacophony of noises that were indecipherable from the last. He gave a soft wince and turned to look at Thor with an expression of disbelief, before the older man gave a subtle shrug and a nervous smile of his own in return. There was little they could do about the reaction.

 

Loki drew in a deep breath and proceeded to walk forward with Thor, by his side as if that were where he truly belonged, and as they walked down the aisle – towards the altar where their king stood waiting for them – he felt a sense of dread overcome him that he rarely felt. This was not something he could use his power of illusion to hide from, nor was it something that he could fight, and he could not even resort to sarcasm without dishonouring their king and securing his path straight back into the dungeons. He felt helpless. He had rarely ever been a spectacle, not even when dragged in chains, but today he was.

 

The hall was more beautiful than it seemed, but it was difficult to take in such sights when he was obliged to hide his nervousness with an arrogant smile and casual stride, because the only thing more humiliating than to be forced to wed Thor would be for the Allfather to see his fear. He made a point to lock eyes with Odin as he walked. He refused to look at Thor by his side, even when the blond man seemed to strive to surreptitiously send glances his way, as if he craved to tell Loki something.

 

It took several minutes to reach the altar, by which point the applause had died and a serene form of quiet had overtaken the hall. Loki moved to stand to the left, with Frigga and Sif not far behind him, whilst Thor stood to the right and sent a rather cocky smile to the Warriors Three behind him, who – to Loki’s amusement – sent him apologetic expressions back. Odin stood centre, his body unobstructed from view.

 

“It is time for you to exchange vows,” Odin projected loudly.

 

Loki felt his hands clench as he drew in a deep breath. He tried to catch the Allfather’s eye, but it seemed that he was truly dead to the elderly man. Odin kept his gaze transfixed straight ahead down the aisle. His hands were hard upon the top of the altar, whilst the flames of the ornamental bowl had begun to die down, so that the light upon his face felt natural from the sunlight above. It was an awe-inspiring sight. Loki wished that he had paid more attention to the speeches and prayers rather than bickering with Thor, because he may have gained insight into what Odin _truly_ felt.

 

“Do you both stand here of your own free will?”

 

“Yes,” declared Thor eagerly.

 

“I believe so,” Loki said.

 

“Then you will know the _importance_ of the vows to come.”

 

Odin sent Loki a cold glare, one that clearly stated clearly that he would not abide the event being treated with anything less than the respect it deserved. It would perhaps be the most important event in Thor’s life, save for the inevitable coronation, and so to treat it with anything less than utmost reverence would be the greatest disrespect. Still, it was a little frustrating for him to be expected to take this charade seriously.

 

Loki drew in a deep breath. He could feel the Allfather’s eyes all too painfully, as well as the eyes of their family, their friends and their people . . . he could feel the way that Thor looked to him as if to reassure himself that Loki was well . . . and when he saw the white ribbon upon the altar, before the flames, he felt his blood run cold. He had entered this hall as a prisoner, but he would leave a husband imprisoned only by marriage itself. There would be a reception in their honour, then they would retire alone to their new rooms, and then the talks would inevitably come . . .

 

“Today two lives shall become one,” Odin said for the hall to hear. “We are here to witness the union of these two souls, souls that shall be bound for eternity in the blessed sanctitude of marriage, and from their union we shall draw forth inspiration and hope. Their commitment, love and loyalty shall act as a beacon of light within our lives. The darkness that once existed within them shall be vanquished. Today they shall be born anew and purified with love.

 

“Thor Odinson. Loki Laufeyson. You stand here today as two incomplete souls. You have lived but a shadow of life, each one of you lacking what the other possessed, but today you shall pledge to share your gifts. You will set aside your own needs to provide for the other, and in such a union you will finally become complete. In this new life you will find wholeness, purpose, and a sense of peace. You will be strong. You will be honourable. You find yourselves better men and inspire each other to be better still. It is a union that shall require loyalty, compromise, and complete fidelity. Do you both willingly consent to this union?”

 

“Yes,” Thor exclaimed proudly.

 

“I suppose,” Loki muttered.

 

“Do you both enter this union knowing what it entails? Do you both understand that from this day forth that you shall pledge your hearts, bodies and souls to each other, that no other person shall be permitted to touch you emotionally nor physically?”

 

“We do,” Thor answered.

 

“ _We do?_ ”

 

“Then it is time to tie two souls together.”

 

Odin gave a wide smile. It was obvious to Loki that such a smile was forced, but – regardless – it seemed to sate the need of the people for foolish sentimentality. He seemed to stand as a father blessing a union between his son and his betrothed, a ruler that sought to unify two warring kingdoms with an act of acceptance, and as he stood – regal and strong – he inspired an entire nation. It didn’t seem to matter that his words were hollow, just so long as he delivered them with such strength that his audience believed them. He had an enviable gift for rhetoric. Loki wondered how many people realised that this was a mere act.

 

“Thor Odinson, take the cloth from the altar. The cloth that you see is white, pure and unstained, much like your love for one another, and its tie shall stand forth as a symbol of the ties that bind you together as one. You will tie one end of this cloth to the wrist of Loki Laufeyson. Loki Laufeyson, you shall in turn tie one end to the wrist of Thor Odinson. This shall complete your union.”

 

Thor stepped forward and took the cloth from the altar. He raised it high as if he had accepted a trophy or a great treasure, and presented it to the attendees with a flourish. Loki presented his forearm with far less elegance, as if he had submitted to a medical test rather than a romantic declaration of love, and strove to keep his arm steady and refrain from shaking. He couldn’t say that he was at all pleased to be _tied_ again to anyone, even if it were a mere symbolic gesture.

 

He saw Fandral whisper what seemed like a joke to Hogun, which caused the more stoic man to merely give him a ‘look’. It distracted Loki from the fact that Thor clumsily – and a little too tightly – tied the cloth to his wrist, and it also made him wish that he could cast a spell that would show the so-called ‘warrior’ just what Loki thought of him. He wondered if they expected him to betray them all at the first chance that presented itself, sealing his fate to be executed, or if they thought he would simply submit and become the ideal spouse to a future king, as if he would gladly sacrifice his entire identity just to remain out of prison. He felt judged.

 

Once Thor had finished the tie, Loki took the other end and sharply tied it to his now husband’s wrist. He made sure to knot it rough, enough that Thor jerked his hand back violently to prevent Loki tying it tighter, and – whilst the blond man shrugged it off as nervousness to the crowd – Loki knew that he was livid from the glare in his eyes and the strain upon his smile. Their hands were now tied a few inches apart. Loki wondered if a couple in love would hold hands instead of keeping distance.

 

“You may now seal the ceremony with a kiss.”

 

Loki rolled his eyes.

 

He noted the omission from Odin’s speech about how such a kiss would be the start of many, or that to kiss before a crowd was a sign that the union was now official, or even that it would symbolise the romance and love between the two. He likely omitted such a part due it being nothing but lies. There would be no other kisses, the marriage was in name only, and the only arguable love between the two was platonic.

 

Thor seemed to give a heavy breath through his nose, unleashing a noise that sounded somewhere between a hiss and a sigh, and then used his free left hand to turn Loki’s head towards him. Loki clenched his jaw and tightened his lips to the point that they became nothing but a white line, desperate to make his objection clear, and Thor simply glared back. _Good, let him be angry_. Loki did not move, he did not make an inclination to act, and so Thor was forced to lean forward and place a small peck upon those closed lips. It lasted about three seconds at most, enough to look romantic and nervous, but also enough for Loki to be tempted to spit just to teach Thor a lesson.

 

“Congratulations, Thor Odinson and Loki Laufeyson,” Odin declared. “You have declared your love and sworn your oath. Today shall begin the first day of your new life. I declare your betrothal over, now you are one!”

 

The eruption of applause deafened Loki. It seemed that their people were quite supportive of such a union, which made him wonder what lies they had been fed to make them so accepting. The crowd of attendees would consist of family, friends, high-ranking officials, warriors, and diplomats . . . the best of their society . . . and they would watch Thor and Loki walk down that aisle tied together, joined as one, and they would cry and cheer and smile.

 

Loki wondered if he had made the right choice.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

# Chapter Five

****

“Congratulations on your wedding, Thor!”

 

Volstagg struck the blond man firm upon his back. It looked like a friendly gesture, one between two close friends and comrades, but the strength of it may have knocked a lesser man off his feet. Loki continued to watch from afar, because – even if he were somehow welcomed into their group – he would rather stand as an outsider than as a fellow to a man that thought that a friendly punch was the same as a soft handshake.

 

The large man held a glass of mead in one hand, which spilled over the sides with every movement of his meaty arms, and occasionally he let out a billowing laugh that made everyone around him laugh in unison. Those around him – save for one – raised their glasses to an unspoken toast, whilst Thor stood centre of his small group and drank in their praises. Sif stood beside Volstagg in a beautifully tailored gown, silver to match the rest of the colour scheme, whereas Fandral and Hogun stood opposite to Thor’s right, in full armour. Their positioning may have intimidated a lesser man.

 

“I believe the congratulations should come _after_ the wedding night,” Fandral joked. “The day is merely a chance for the women to celebrate and gossip and dress themselves ornately, whereas the night –”

 

“Whereas the night is _what_?” Sif asked coldly.

 

Fandral cleared his throat and gave a nervous smile. He had spent centuries in the company of females, with his time spent evenly between fighting besides Sif and flirting with random wenches, and yet he still had yet to learn the way to talk without offending the fairer sex. It caused Loki to smile in anticipation of what was to come. He had to admit that he found the four friends of his ‘husband’ highly amusing, at least in the way that they could pass time and make him feel better about himself.

 

“Well, the night is for the men,” Fandral continued weakly. “The day is always spent attending to the women’s needs, well it is only fair that come the evening that the women then attend to the men’s . . . come now! I am sure that Thor will back me up on this; it is his wedding day, after all!”

 

“I will do no such thing,” Thor laughed. “I know a lost cause when I see one!”

 

“Aye, as do I,” Sif replied coolly. “I would be quite interested in hearing about the duties to which women owe their men, Fandral, why don’t you continue for us? It seems that you could teach me many things.”

 

Loki watched with interest as the group began to bicker amongst themselves. Their jibes were friendly and their banter was simple, and it was almost impossible for an outsider to realise that anything was wrong. They clustered around one another as if today were just an ordinary celebration, and their talk was casual and spoke nothing of the seriousness of what had occurred. It was as if they strove to believe that nothing had changed, because then they would not have to welcome Loki back into their fold.

 

It was obvious that they sought to exclude him. He could not have stood more than seven feet from their group, alone aside from a glass of mead and a pair of guards who strove to remain inconspicuous, and yet they honestly did not seem to see him, or – perhaps – they simply strove not to acknowledge him. They talked, they drank and they jested, whilst Loki stood excluded upon the sidelines. The reception halls were filled with people, but it seemed that half of those people were too afraid to talk to the ‘trickster’, whilst the other half felt far too beneath the ‘royal prince’ to dare to talk to him. He would have felt slighted were it not for the fact he was used to such things.

 

The hall was streamed with vast banners of silver and gold, with the thousands of attendees for the ceremony now in the mere hundreds for the ‘intimate’ reception and following feast, and yet each one was so exquisitely dressed that Loki felt underdressed for his own wedding. It was a beautiful sight. No expense had been spared, and even the vast windows had stayed open to allow for the glow of the moon to shine through. It felt too poetic for a sham concocted to save his life.

 

“It is just a shame that you have to spend your wedding night with Loki,” Fandral said sadly. He raised his glass and nodded a salute to Thor. “It seems almost a waste, especially if this is the only wedding you’ll get. My condolences!”

 

“You think too much with one head and not the other!”

 

“That may well be,” he continued with a laugh. “We fought hard after you retrieved the Tesseract, there were so many wars in so many realms! It is about time that we had cause to celebrate and enjoy ourselves! It is just a shame that you have had to sacrifice so much . . . you are our friend, but I do not see why we have to stay silent for this sham of a marriage . . . do you not long for real love?”

 

Thor’s expression darkened. There was a long moment where he simply stared at the drink in his hands, where his blue eyes seemed to take in a sight that no one else could be privy to, and a loose plait of hair fell to the side of his face. It was as if he were mourning the loss of the life that he could have had, the life with Jane by his side as his wife, a life where he would have been free to make his choices, rather than a life with those decisions made for him. He mourned for what could have been.

 

He looked up and managed to make eye contact with Loki. There was a faint smile upon his lips that seemed to be both sincere and yet for show, as if he needed for the other man to know how he felt, and there could be no mistaking the tiredness to his eyes and the sorrow to his brow. Loki wondered how Thor had managed to hide such pain for so long. This was a side of Thor that he had rarely seen, but today it seemed that Thor was looking _to_ him rather than _at_ him. It was as if Thor saw him as an equal. Loki could not help but listen carefully to the words that followed, because there could be no ignoring a man that held such deep-felt emotion and conflict.

 

“I long for peace between the realms,” Thor confessed, “and the life of my brother.”

 

“He is not your brother anymore,” Hogun interrupted.

 

“That may be so, but I still owe him a duty. He is my husband! I will not deny the man that I have pledged my life to, not least when he needs me most. You will forgive me if I do not treat this marriage simply as a joke.”

 

“No one meant to imply that, Thor,” Sif said gently, “but you can not deny that Loki is not be trusted. I know that you think that somewhere deep inside him is the man that you used to know, but we must face facts . . . Loki’s only loyalties are to himself. He may cause you great harm before this marriage is over, and you would have sacrificed your only love for nothing.”

 

“Ah,” Fandral said with a cheeky smirk, “that’s the good thing about marrying a shape-shifter, he can be whatever Thor wishes him to be! He can have a thousand loves a thousand times over, all without betraying his vows even once.”

 

Loki rolled his eyes at those words.

 

It was one thing to be insulted, but another to be insulted so poorly. It seemed that Fandral had no concept of the difference between physical changes of form and those of an illusion that merely appeared to be different, not to mention the insinuation that Loki would bend so willingly to the will of another. He was not a cheap magician whose purpose was to perform tricks on command, nor was he an easy conquest that would forget _centuries_ of brotherhood for a perceived bedroom duty.

 

The months of isolation in a dungeon cell were beginning to seem preferable to this forced ‘socialisation’ at his wedding, because at least then the barbs were beyond his earshot, and even a prisoner could respond to a taunt with as much cruelty and wit as he could muster forth in his exhaustion. He had no choice but to abide such insults as things stood. He could not cause a scene at his wedding reception, but he could not let such words be spoken without some form of payback. He knew the Warriors Three well enough. If he let them think that they held power over him now, then they would forever torment him for the years to come.

 

Loki turned his back upon them with a smile. He raised his cup to his lips and tilted it slightly, just enough to hide his smirk and make it seem as if he were taking an innocent sip, then he gave a flick of his left wrist quickly by his side. It seemed that Fandral didn’t notice anything amiss at first, not even when his friends’ laughter increased immensely at his expense. It was only when the amusement of his joke wore off, yet the laughter wore on, that he seemed to notice something wasn’t quite right and took a look downward. It seemed that things were no longer so funny.

 

Fandral shot downwards to grab his fallen trousers.

 

The blush upon his cheeks and the stutter to his speech almost made the prank worth it, but frankly it felt a little juvenile by Loki’s standards. There was only so much that he could get away with though, especially with all eyes upon him, and so a prank that could easily have been a genuine accident was the best that he could do in such circumstances. He sipped his drink and turned to better appreciate the look of humiliation on Fandral’s face, but caught Thor’s look of irritation in the process.

 

“It seems you have a _small_ problem,” Sif commented.

 

“Not at all! I think I have a rather large problem, thank you!” Fandral adjusted his clothing and gave a nervous cough. “Ah, I must not have worn my belt tight enough. These things happen, unfortunately . . . still; at least the maidens now know what they can expect, which certainly can’t harm my chances!”

 

“You should be more serious,” Sif chastised. “You are the one to criticise Volstagg for eating too much or Hogun for his stoicism, but now you do nothing but talk of women when our friend is suffering!”

 

“What do you wish for me to do? The marriage is done. It is legally binding and even if it were not . . . we cannot go against the Allfather’s wishes! You would attempt treason to try and dissolve a marriage between two people that – as far as politics go – are a perfect match? We may as well just celebrate and then try to come up with a new solution in the morning.”

 

“Then what do we do now?”

 

Loki drew in a deep breath from where he stood. It seemed that any time someone questioned this union, whether himself or another, that there would be someone else to speak of how ‘futile’ it was to argue or how they should just accept what had been decided. There was logic to that; it was a theoretically sound decision and there were no other alternative options, but he wished that someone would at least fight for a way to free him without him being tied to a loveless marriage.

 

“Now?” Fandral asked. “Now we toast before the feast! _To Thor_!”

 

He watched as the four friends raised their glasses. There were hundreds of honoured guests to this reception, but these four only saw the world that existed within their group. They were lost in conversation and comradeship, with each man and woman concerned only with the next, and – whilst such a close relationship was enviable – it was difficult not to feel like an intruder at their social gathering. Loki shook his head.

 

They toasted to Thor . . . not to Loki _and_ Thor, simply to Thor . . . and as the four drank the world moved on around them. The noise of so many voices made the reception feel like an unnatural din, whilst the pushing to and fro gave a hectic energy to the proceedings, and yet all the while Loki stood on his own beside a long table filled with various appetisers. He began to long for the quiet of his rooms, only to feel that hollow despair that his rooms would no longer be his, for they would share Thor’s rooms and his privacy would be non-existent.

 

“Thank you, my friends,” Thor said sincerely.

 

He raised the cup to his lips and Loki acted. The black-haired man flicked his wrist, but this time with a solemn expression. It was difficult to forget the hollow promises, the childish belief that his family held that he could somehow be ‘fixed’, and the way that they had forgotten him for the past week in order to celebrate without him. He hadn’t expected for things to change on his release, but a part of him had hoped that they might finally see him as an equal. He was still second best to Thor.

 

Thor immediately spat out his drink upon the first swallow. A cloud of liquid and spit fell upon Lady Sif, who looked ready to slap her prince in fury, whilst Thor continued to choke and splutter. Volstagg clapped a hand on Thor’s back to try and dislodge the liquid that cluttered up his airways, and tears rose to Thor’s eyes as he struggled for breath. It was drew a lot of attention from those standing closest to the group, but not enough for the guards to abandon their posts. Eventually Thor raised a fist to his mouth and used another to wave an apology to Sif. His glass now lay smashed upon the floor, something that Loki had not noticed at first due to the outburst.

 

“Are you okay?” Hogun asked.

 

“No, the mead,” Thor said with an embarrassed smile, “it tastes like horse piss! Surely mine was not the only one to taste so bad? I was sure for a moment that I had been poisoned, it was by far the worst thing I have ever tasted!”

 

“That is strange. My mead was quite delicious.”

 

_‘Loki, that was quite a cruel jest to play upon your husband.’_

Loki turned to face Frigga. He bowed his head, grateful for the fact that a servant had taken his head-ornamentation at the beginning of the reception, and tried not to appear too pleased before her. She had a habit of drawing raw emotion from him, emotions that he could not hide, but he also knew that it would be too dangerous to show to her everything that he felt. He raised both hands to his chest, palms visible save for where the cup in the left obscured the view, and made an act of declaring ignorance.

 

“I have no idea what you mean, Mother.”

 

“You know very well what it is that I mean, Loki.”

 

Frigga stood tall with an elegance that was to be envied. There was no indication of ill feeling in her expression, and so her words could only mean that she was disappointed in Loki’s behaviour, not angry or fearful of the potential consequences. She truly wanted what was best for him, for Thor too, and this shone through her pale skin and light blue eyes, eyes that seemed to soften with a hint of sadness due to his actions.

 

She was beautiful though, everything that a queen should be, and Loki could not help but wonder if Jane would have appeared as regal as their queen were she to be wed instead. Frigga’s golden locks were curled high upon her head, exposing her neck, whilst her golden dress seemed to speak of a great cost that had been paid for its creation, with a cape that draped around her shoulders and kept her upper arms from view. There – across her shoulders and neck – sat a clear material that was cast with thousands of small diamonds, each one glistened in the moonlight.

 

“I understand what you feel, my son,” Frigga said calmly, “but what you feel is no fault of Thor’s. It is the fault of circumstance and fate, it is the fault of your actions that caused you to be imprisoned to begin with, but Thor is blameless in this.”

 

“Yes, because Thor can do no wrong,” Loki spat. “Thor would _never_ shove me to the sidelines, he would _never_ mock the few talents that I have by referring to them as mere ‘tricks’, and he would _never_ chose a girl that he has known for _three days_ over the brother he had known for a _millennium_! Do you know where he was this past week? _Do you_? I don’t!”

 

“I do. He spent this week on Earth to explain to Jane Foster that he was sorry to have spent so long away from her, but that he was now betrothed to another. The rest of his time was spent trying to find an alternative solution in some of our oldest books of law, before finally preparing for the wedding.”

 

“The celebrations –”

 

“Were nowhere _near_ as grand or as long as you assume them to be.”

 

Frigga gave a warm yet sorrowful smile. She reached down to take Loki’s hands in hers and looked to them with a motherly affection. It reminded him of the times when he had been a young boy, when he would scrape his knee in a fight with Thor or burn himself with a miscast spell, and she would place a soothing hand upon him and sing calming words to distract from the pain. He disliked that she refused to accept the changes in him, but he could never stop loving her . . .

 

“I know how you feel, Loki, I truly do . . .”

 

“You know _nothing_ of how I feel.”

 

“You are not the only spouse to feel nerves upon their wedding day,” Frigga explained gently. “Do you not feel nervous about what is to be expected of you? I am not oblivious to your pain, Loki. I understand your suffering and I wish you would understand that you are not alone.”

 

“This is _not_ the same as your wedding day. It is far from it.”

 

Loki snatched his hands away. He did not want to feel her warm touch or kind words, because they felt hollow and devoid of understanding. He admired the strength of her love and her desire to help the man that was like a son to her, but that love felt misplaced, and the more that she fooled herself into believing that Loki was like her . . . someone more than just a creature . . . the more she insulted the intelligence of them both. He wanted comfort, but he did not deserve it. He did not deserve the love of someone so pure, not when he had dirtied his hands with the blood of many.

 

“It is true that your day is not quite like my own,” Frigga continued sadly, “but that does not mean that I am oblivious to your pain. I loved Odin with all my heart, I trusted him not to hurt me in the way that you can trust Thor not to hurt you, but I lived with a deep fear that day regardless of what I believed. I live now without fear, because I know that there is nothing _to_ fear, but on that day – so long ago – I had no way of knowing this. I had no knowing what kind of husband he would be.

 

“I knew more than what you do today, because of our long courtship and betrothal. There was great discussion of what was to be expected of me, what duties I would attend, even how we would raise our heirs, and yet so many questions were left unanswered . . . to plan is not the same as to know. We could plan out our lives in great detail, but we had no way of knowing if things would go as planned until we experienced those things first-hand. There were times when our relationship was tested. Odin would react with anger to what I thought he may be pleased with, but we worked together. We communicated and as such all conflicts were resolved.”

 

“So my fear is unfounded? Is that it?”

 

“In some respects, yes,” Frigga answered. “We hear many horror stories of what life may be . . . for the maiden this is the blood and pain of the wedding night, for the prince it may be his loss of freedom and treatment as a mere object, and we come to believes these tales. All I know is that many maidens remember their night as the most romantic night of their lives, and many princes find their power vastly increased by such a union. The young fear the worst, but the elders expect the best.”

 

It was difficult not to be touched by her words.

 

He felt comfort in that she believed in the best, but his situation was not like hers. The guards not too far from him stood silent, almost as if they were mere decorative statues, and yet – despite their absolute composure – they stood as reminders of the freedom he had sacrificed. They were there for _him_. No matter what Frigga thought she understood, she never had guards to prevent her escape.

 

Thor appeared to be unaware of the conversation between Loki and Frigga, although he occasionally cast glances to them, and as their eyes met they seemed to share something that the others could not be privy to. It was difficult to pinpoint an exact emotion, but the way Thor’s eyes narrowed and darkened spoke of both anger and fear, as if he saw something in Loki that disagreed with him. They would have no time alone until the reception was over. There would be no chance for Thor to break away from his friends, no chance for Loki to speak to him away from the guards or their mother, and no way to ask him just what it was that he felt or expected.

 

It was only when Thor looked away that Loki realised he had been staring. He drew in a deep breath and turned to his mother with as much of an arrogant a smile as he could muster, but she knew him too well. The smile on her lips spoke of an understanding; she knew how Thor’s actions affected Loki and how this perceived rejection stung more than he would have liked. He almost hated her in that moment, because she saw in him more than anyone ever had. He felt vulnerable.

 

“You know that Thor loves you very much,” she said softly. “He went to Earth to end what could have been between him and Jane. The Warriors Three went with him, which is where they spent some days, but Thor risked his father’s wrath to do such a thing . . . he wanted to be honourable and do what was right. He did not want to enter this marriage whilst he was tied in any way to another.”

 

“So I should stay silent and play nice? I should feel _indebted_ to him?”

 

“I mean to say that you should appreciate all that he has done. He has always put your needs first. He married you out of love for his mother, who wished for you to live a life free from chains, and he has given up upon the woman he loves to do so. He loves you, Loki, even if it is not how a husband should. Did you not see the engravings upon his vambraces when he went to Midgard? Those were your symbols he wore.”

 

Loki put down his glass onto the table. He clenched his hands into tight fists and felt the need to walk away stronger than ever. This was not like the times in his cell or even the times when he fought with Thor, he could not simply waft away an illusionary image or start a fight to avoid a discussion, this was something that he had to abide for the sake of dignity. He was obliged to remain at this event, in the same way he was obliged to pay his mother respect. He carefully picked his next words.

 

“If I promise to treat my _husband_ with a modicum of respect,” Loki said coldly, “will you let this discussion be? I am sure that I will have _millennia_ to hear Thor’s praises sang over and over again, so just for today I would like to talk about something else.”

 

“Very well, but remember that a little kindness goes a long way.”

 

_‘Frigga, my queen!’_

The voice was enough to silence all that were within hearing distance. Loki noted with distaste how the crowds seemed to exude an aura of reverence, and Loki remembered how – long ago – he had been just like them. He watched as Odin came forward. He was all that a king should be: strong, collected and self-aware. Odin knew the extent of his power and he knew that the crowd would act as was expected. Indeed, by the time Odin had came close to his queen she had already offered forth her hand with a smile, and Odin placed a chaste kiss upon it with familiar affection.

 

“It is time for the feast,” Odin said. “Come, let us enter.”

 

Frigga took Odin’s arm gently. It seemed that – whatever she felt towards her king – he reciprocated her feelings tenfold. Loki had almost forgotten what it was like to see the old man smile, how he could express with a simple facial expression infinite love, and he had to wonder – if he were capable of such kindness – why it was that Loki was beyond redemption to him. It may have been that he had never been a son to Odin, merely a political pawn from the start, but still . . . to know that he had never been loved . . . it made it clear that his was Thor’s wedding day, not _their_ day.

 

It was then that Loki felt the presence of Thor beside him, and it seemed that the blond man purposely stood with left arm out, just enough that if one were so inclined that they would be able to take a hold of the crook and walk arm-in-arm. The smile on Thor’s face felt more forced than it ought. He seemed uncomfortable, like a child made to share under parental eyes. Loki gave a false smile of his own.

 

“If you offer me your arm, _Husband_ , I may just break it.”

 

“Come now, Loki,” Thor whispered, as his smile did not break. “You can consider this ample payback for your prank earlier, but if you would rather cause a scene then I am sure that Father would understand.”

 

“Since when were you capable of sarcasm?”

 

Loki realised that all eyes were upon them. The Allfather stood with his queen to the doors of the hall in which the feast would be consumed, but his eyes were dark and heavy upon Loki, as though he waited for the moment for the young man to reveal his maturity, albeit with a cynical disbelief in Loki’s ability to remain calm. He was taking too long to take Thor’s arm. If he waited any longer, it would effectively be the same as a rejection, which would cause a great scandal for a newlywed couple.

 

“Loki,” Thor continued firmly, “there is an old tradition in which the groom carries the bride to the feast. I had always thought you a modern man, but I am not averse to old traditions should the situation call for it.”

 

“I will dye your hair as you sleep for this,” Loki whispered back.

 

“Can you not play nice just for one day?”

 

Thor’s arm remained poised in position. Loki waited for a brief moment, as his hands clenched so tightly that the very muscles in his arms began to ache and his nails drove red crescents into his palms, and then – with an incredibly violent gesture – he took his husband’s arm and held it with a smile that bordered upon venomous. He was certain that Thor’s own grin looked no better, but if their people noticed the darkness behind the smiles then no one showed an signs of knowing.

 

He allowed himself to be led by Thor to the grand doors. He felt nervous at having all eyes upon him, but also furious at being forced to hold onto Thor as if he were nothing but a maiden. They took their place not far behind Odin and Frigga, and as they stood Loki cast a dark glare to his husband. It was then that the doors opened to the dining-hall. Their king walked on ahead with his wife by his side and Thor followed with Loki. There was no doubt that the crowd would soon follow, once their sovereign and the couple of honour had entered, but Loki could not allow himself to focus on that. He instead tried to take in the surroundings of the hall. He wondered if the wedding would have been so lavish had Thor decided to marry any other.

 

The dining-hall was decorated in a theme of gold. The main table at the far end was filled with rare foods, some of which Loki had not seen in some centuries. There were four seats, each one – like the table itself – elevated so that the entire hall could see its occupants. Frigga sat on the far right and Odin next to her. Thor sat beside his father, which meant that Loki would be expected to sit on the far left. He would be isolated at the far end of the table with only Thor to talk to, and he would have the eyes of hundreds of people on a dozen or so tables upon him. It was depressing indeed.

 

“Take a seat, Loki,” Thor said kindly.

 

“Oh? You will not pull out a chair for your husband? What manners!”

 

Loki threw himself into the chair without much grace, as Thor took a seat beside him with a dark glance cast in his direction. It was hard not to notice Thor’s displeasure, especially with how he angled his chair away from his new husband and yet was intent on watching his every move, almost as if he could not trust the other not to act out in some way. Loki would have been offended, but he couldn’t deny it was justified. He was not to be trusted.

 

It seemed that the tables – all lined vertically before the ‘bridal party’ – were filled quickly and with little trouble. Those of greatest honour were seated closest to the main table, with the Warriors Three and Lady Sif only a few feet away from their friend. There were those like Volstagg who had already began to consume the food before their king had so much as raised his fork or his voice, and those like Hogun who seemed indifferent to the situation. Odin stood to address the crowd. He wore an expression that silenced those present. Thor waited in anticipation, whilst Frigga sat with a look of serene sadness, but both sat with elegance and respect.

 

Loki, however, leaned back in his chair with one foot upon the edge of the table, looking as he would were he forced to watch Thor spar or listen to a lecture that he had heard a dozen times over. He kept his eyes focussed at an empty corner of the hall and folded his arms across his chest, which seemed to make his reluctance to be there rather obvious and perhaps disconcerted those that watched him, for a newlywed man should have been joyful. He had no doubt that he would be chastised later.

 

“I thank you all for attending the wedding of my son, Thor Odinson,” Odin projected warmly, “and his new husband, Loki Laufeyson. We cannot express gratitude enough for the kindness that you have shown us today. You have gifted us with your presence. You have honoured us with your respect. In return we offer this feast to you and pray that it may bring you as much joy as we feel today. Please, begin!”

 

The noise of the crowd began afresh. There were the noises associated with mealtimes – belching, slurping and tearing – combined with loud laughter and conversation that seemed to fill every corner of the room. It seemed that even Thor had lost himself in the revelry, at least by the way that he tore into a joint of meat and laughed at something his father said. Thor eventually turned to Loki with a genuine expression of concern, whilst Odin and Frigga conversed with each other. They showered each other with subtle affection, looked at each other adoringly, and spoke soft words that were clearly words of love. Loki almost envied them for what he would never have.

 

“Loki!” Thor exclaimed. “You must eat! It will do you well.”

 

“I think not. I would rather eat without the eyes of hundreds upon me, _thank you_.”

 

“You will be sick if you starve yourself. You know that.”

 

“I will be sick if I eat. You _should_ know that.”

 

“Just one bite, come now!”

 

Loki looked down at the feast before him. There were various meats scattered about upon dozens of plates, bowls of fruit and vegetables that were so fresh that they may have only been picked that day, and glasses of wines and meads that would have been tempting in any other situation. It was true that he hadn’t eaten since the night previous, and aside from water for breakfast and wine before the ceremony he had not allowed a drop of liquid to touch his lips. It hadn’t seemed wise to eat a single bite when he struggled merely to keep his hands from shaking.

 

“I am not a child, Thor, do not treat me as such.”

 

“Very well, then will you not humour me? Just one bite!”

 

Loki was well aware how stubborn Thor could be. He remembered the times when his wishes would be conveniently forgotten for what was now his husband’s, to the point that he had learned the best way to get what he wanted was to subtly manipulate Thor into believing the idea had been his all along. It didn’t work all the time, such as times like these where there was little room for argument and little time for distraction, but it had worked often enough. Thor would not give in this time though.

 

He reached out for a slice of meat and held it in his hands for a moment, but the more he looked at it the less he felt an urge to eat. It had always been known that Loki’s appetite had not quite been like other Asgardians, but his nervousness had combined with his displeasure to erase any desire for food that he had, and as he looked at the meat he felt a sickness that he hadn’t felt for some time. He needed to focus upon keeping his stoic façade. It took all his strength simply to sit beside Thor without instigating an argument, but to eat too . . . he was certain that he couldn’t stomach it. The very scent of the meat made him feel nauseous. He put the meat down.

 

“If you will excuse me, I feel somewhat unwell.”

 

“Do you need me to go with you?”

 

“I may depend on you for so much, Thor, but I think that emptying the contents of my body is something that I can do alone. That is . . . if I have your permission? I would not like to offend my husband by being sick without his consent first.”

 

“Just go, Loki. Your food will still be here when you return.”

 

“Wonderful.”

 

Loki stood quickly and made his way down the steps of the platform. That the table of the wedding party had been raised caused the attention upon him to be greater than it otherwise would have been, and so it was difficult to slip across the room without feeling the eyes of many people upon him. He wondered what they thought of him, what excuse Thor would whisper across to Odin, or even if this would be symbolic of the rest of his life: a series of permissions sought and permissions granted.  

 

There was a large door at the corner of the hall that led to the washrooms, with a guard that stood either side. It was an innocuous entrance on the far left, yet Loki was almost certain that the eyes of every guard scattered about were upon him. He stood before the doors and expected entry, but found that the two men blocked the way with their spears. Loki clenched his hands and tried to refrain from causing a scene. It was difficult to ignore the glance they cast to the head table, or the way that they gave a nod of acknowledgement and lowered their weapons, and Loki had to breathe deep to keep his cool. He had meant his quip to Thor to be ironic, but it seemed that he had spoken with more truth than he realised. Any freedoms he had were a mere illusion.

 

He marched through the long corridor and stepped into the bathroom. It was a relatively small affair, but beautifully decorated. The ornate decoration included a wall comprised entirely of mirrors, a dozen or so cubicles that lay opposite and centre of the room sat a table filled with incense and perfumes, scents that were designed to relax the body and cleanse the air. Loki walked straight to the sinks and began to splash his face with water. It cooled his skin and helped distract from the nausea.

 

“Are you well, Loki?”

 

Loki froze and looked into the mirror above the sink. He had not expected to be followed by another, least of all someone who appeared concerned for his health, and he at once began to wonder what ulterior motives were in place. It was hard to believe that Lady Sif had followed him out kindness, but Loki did not fear her presence for he knew that the guards would have been sent to follow him and would stand nearby. It would be impossible for Loki to act out, but Sif would also be unable to fight.

 

She stood in the doorway with a rather unreadable expression, which made clear that she in no way trusted Loki. Sif had followed him to make sure that he did not cause trouble, although what he could do – with guards around him and a limit on his magic – he did not quite know, and yet she stood there as if she had every right to be there. In a way, she did. She had every right to just ‘happen’ to need to use the facilities, just the same as she had every right to check on the actions of a known traitor, but Loki still felt slighted as both a prince and the husband of Thor. He turned around and kept both hands upon the silver marble, desperate for something to keep them still.

 

“Lady Sif, what a pleasure.”

 

“You seemed unwell,” Sif said indifferently. “I felt it my duty to the prince consort to check upon his health. It would not do for you to fall ill upon your wedding day, especially for you to be so ill alone as you are.”

 

“Ah, what kindness,” Loki spat. “You did not wish for me to be alone? I am sure that there is no hidden agenda to that other than concern for my safety, after all it is not as though I am a well-known trickster and a man whose ledger runs thick with red. Then again . . . perhaps you are not here out of concern for your realm? You _were_ very close to Thor, were you not? Even the Allfather saw potential in you.”

 

“I _am_ very close to Thor, enough to wish him only the best. He is my comrade, my friend and my prince. If you are here to plan or plot against him, Loki, then I am afraid that you have come to the wrong place.”

 

“You are right. My only place is beside Thor . . .”

 

Loki tightened his grip and felt his gaze fall just slightly, although not enough to leave the stoic expression that Sif wore and to alert her to his discomfort. He knew that his mother was right, that he should not resent Thor when the older man had only acted with his best interests at heart, but – when the marriage stole away the few freedoms he had – it was difficult not to feel bitter. He had to remind himself that this was better than being trapped in a cell until the day of Ragnarök. It was a necessary evil.

 

“To think,” Sif responded, “you used to complain about being behind Thor.”

 

“Whether I was left far behind in his shadow,” Loki said bitterly, “or whether I live chained to his side as his husband, I will _still_ be closer to him than you ever will! I was his _brother_ , I am his _spouse_ , and you are nothing more than a crying bint that lives her life forever wanting what she cannot have! You will _never_ catch his eye, no matter how often you watch him from afar! _You ridiculous woman_!”

 

“I almost felt sorry for you . . .”

 

Loki raised a shaking hand to his temple. His fingers felt like ice upon his skin, a thought that only heightened his panic and anger, and as he pulled back his hand – desperate to avoid the reminder of what he was – he looked at it with a shaking gaze and a feeling of sickness. He put his hand back on the marble. Sif seemed indifferent to his fear, but – whereas before her distance had merely been frustrating – it now felt unbearable. He felt alone. He was tied to a man that was determined to ‘bring back’ Loki, even if the Loki he thought he knew had never existed, whilst his mother spoke softly to him about how misguided he was. How could he find himself when people were so convinced that he was either a shameless villain or a helpless victim?

 

Sif turned around and made to walk away. She had came to check upon him, and if he cast that attempt at civility aside now then he would be stuck with only Frigga and Thor for company for what could be a long time indeed. He could not win her trust, nor did he wish to, but he could perhaps gain a tentative ally and an acquaintance, something that would be beneficial to him if he were to remain tied to Thor . . . that was if he had not destroyed what little friendship had been there completely.

 

“Wait, _please_!”

 

“It isn’t like you to beg,” she said.

 

“In case you haven’t noticed, I have nothing left to lose,” he spat bitterly. “I once had my dignity and pride, but now I have not even that. I am just an arm-decoration for Thor, I am a man that will one day be forced to help raise an heir or else to die on a battlefield, and my only other alternative is imprisonment in a cell where my privacy is merely an abstract concept. Forgive me if I seem a little bitter.”

 

“You could still win your freedom.” Sif turned to face him properly. “You could earn our trust, fight alongside us, and renounce your old ways. It may take decades – even centuries – to atone for your crimes, but the only barrier to this is yourself.”

 

“You mean, if my patience wears thin and I try to usurp the throne –”

 

“Do not joke, Loki. I will be forced to report it.”

 

He gave a forced smile and shook his head. The truth was that they had never liked one another, and because of that it would take twice as long to form some sort of truce. He had stood between her and Thor, always the confidante for Thor that no other could be, whereas she had everything that he wanted: respect. He had envied her, because even a woman had gained more respect from Thor than he could hope. Lady Sif had become a warrior, whereas Loki . . . a magician, nothing more.

 

It was difficult not to feel bitter against a woman more worthy of esteem than a skilled prince. He had learned the ‘feminine’ pursuit of magic from his mother, magic that when combined with Thor’s strength had made them a formidable team, something that had saved their lives on multiple occasions, and yet _Sif_ was the one they trusted. Loki had been the one to be mocked at all costs. He knew that he was mourned after his supposed death, but he wondered what had been said after his attack on Midgard, what cruel jibes would have been uttered about how Loki had been a monster all along. Sif could not trust him and nor could he find it in himself to trust her.

 

“I apologise,” he said sharply. “I am rather unwell and I cannot say that today has been the happiest day of my life, but I appreciate you coming here to check upon me. I am well aware that a mere Jotun is beneath the concerns of an Asgardian.”

 

“You never ceased to be an Asgardian, Loki. You ceased to be a man of honour, a man whose first words upon his return were ones of mockery as opposed to regret, but you are an Asgardian. Our queen believes that you act this way out of pain, whether that is true I cannot say, but I will treat you with respect, because Thor wishes so.”

 

“Then you can send my gratitude to my husband,” Loki replied with a smile, “I am sure that you will see far more of him than I will. Still, I am sure that my illness is fleeting, you have nothing to worry yourself with.”

 

Sif gave him a hard look. It seemed that she was caught wondering about the meaning behind Loki’s words; there could be no doubt that he was hiding something, whether it was mockery to hide the sincerity or sincerity to hide the mockery, but all that could be certain was that he hid his true feelings well. Loki tried not to think about the feast that waited for him upon his return or the wedding night to come, because to think about such things would cause the worry to return and force his smile to die.

 

“Very well,” Sif said. “I congratulate you on your wedding.”

 

She walked away with grace befitting one of her position, but her exit left Loki alone once more. The guards at the doors restricted his right to movement, he could not speak freely without being accused of going against their king, and to return to the hall would be to submit to his new role as if he were no longer anything else than the spouse to a prince. He could not stay in the washroom forever. He had to return.

 

Loki forced a smile and strode back into the hall.

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

# Chapter Six

****

“ _The Art of War?_ Cliché.”

 

Loki threw the book to the floor. It landed with a heavy thud despite the white rug that it landed upon, and it fell open to where Thor had obviously marked his place, however in Loki’s view anyone that _folded_ a page – instead of using a bookmark – had _no_ right to own such a book. The pages were well thumbed and somewhat yellow, and if Loki’s memory served him right then the book had been a gift for Thor from his father for his first lesson in swordsmanship.

 

The bookshelves were stacked rather immaculately, each book in alphabetical order and separated according to genre, and that seemed to Loki like quite an incredible feat in and of itself. The servants would have had to have transported hundreds upon hundreds of books from Loki’s personal library, then spent a vast amount of time rearranging them and organising them to Loki’s liking, and considering they had only the time of the ceremony and reception, not to mention that Thor’s bookshelves were designed to collect only dust, it must have been difficult indeed. He reached out for the second of Thor’s sole three books and looked at the cover with a raised eyebrow.

 

“ _The Life of Bor Burison?_ Narcissistic nonsense.”

“Loki, if would you treat my belongings with some respect -!”

 

“I think not.” Loki threw the biography onto the floor with distaste. “You _are_ aware that you own only _three_ books and _two_ of those can hardly be called ‘literature’?What were you using these shelves for before today?”

 

Loki turned to give his new husband a dark look. Thor merely picked up his books from the floor and moved to place them on a decorative shelf far away from where Loki’s books were stored, almost as if he sensed how much of an offence they were to the younger academic, which suited Loki well. If he saw them again besides his own texts, he would destroy them or give them away to the first passing servant that he saw. He pulled out the final book rather harshly, before he sent a dark glare at the blank cover that told him nothing of its contents.

 

“They held mainly armour and clothing,” Thor snapped. “I think the servants may have moved those into the closet. Your clothing should be there also, Loki, perhaps you would prefer to change than to destroy my rooms?”

 

“Why did you remove this book’s cover? Oh, _I see_ . . .”

 

Loki smirked as he thumbed through the pages. The illustrations were rather artistically drawn, with great accuracy and detail being put into their depictions, and charms had been placed upon the odd drawing to cause them to move upon the page. They weren’t as interesting or as detailed as the pictures within the history books or the art books, but they were enough to cause Loki to stop and admire what he saw. He felt it curious that such a book could have stood beside the others so innocently.

 

It was only a matter of seconds before the book was snatched out of his hands, leaving Loki standing in the living room with empty hands and merely a bookcase to gaze upon. He turned to see that Thor had lifted Mjölnir and had put the book under its weight. There would be no way for Loki to read it now, but at the very least he had succeeded in annoying Thor just enough that the older man would resort to such extreme measures. It made him tempted to go through the rest of the rooms with the same level of attentiveness, because if such a find could be found in full view then there surely had to be more incriminating objects lurking elsewhere out of sight.

 

“Interesting. I did not think that you held such interests.”

 

“It was a mere curiosity, nothing more.” Thor’s voice had become rather heavy and rough, as if he spent all his energy upon holding back his frustrations. “I would prefer it if you would not rummage through my belongings, Loki. It has been merely ten minutes and already my patience wears thin!”

 

“Perhaps if there were more of _my_ belongings, save for a few books and items of clothing, then I would have something _else_ to occupy my attentions? Really now, just because we’re married I am to share _all_ of your likes and tastes?”

 

It was difficult to stay calm. The feast had gone on for far too long, with Loki unable to leave for as long as his husband chose to remain, and he began to feel exhausted from the long day and little food. Their return to Thor’s rooms had been more than welcomed, even if the lewd comments whispered – quite audibly – by Fandral had put a further damper upon Loki’s mood. He cast a rather dark look to the book now hidden beneath the hammer, a book that he genuinely hadn’t thought his brother capable of reading, and he felt a surge of embarrassment and anger at the memory of what he had seen and what their people seemed to expect of them.

 

“If we _are_ to share in all things,” Loki said with a bitter smile, “then let me say right now that I certainly won’t be doing _that_.”

 

“You are not funny, Loki! I am too tired for your tantrums!”

 

“Is that right?”

 

Loki threw his arms up as if daring his husband to retaliate. He bent forward slightly and kept the dark smile upon his lips, because even in his anger he could not help but feel a sense of horrified amusement at their predicament. It was true that he needed to find a common ground with Thor, but that was difficult when his voice had been taken from him. Not _once_ during the day had anyone asked how Loki felt, what Loki wanted, or what was to become of Loki . . . not once had anyone even _questioned_ the marriage. It was infuriating to say the least! It had all been about _Thor_.

 

He stepped back to the bookshelves and picked the heaviest tome he could find. It happened to be an old book of lore, one that he had read so many times that he had all but memorised it, and – as he bounced it in his hands – he felt it a hollow gesture. He would gain nothing more from screaming at Thor than he had done from destroying the furniture in his cell, and yet there was something quite relieving at having some outlet for his pain, especially when that outlet was the cause of all his troubles.

 

Loki threw the book with great force, but Thor merely swatted it away midair.

 

It was an empty gesture indeed. The only thing he succeeded in was a dangerous glare and a rough growl from Thor, followed by the sound of the leather-bound book striking the wall with great force, enough that Loki regretted his action in fear of having damaged the tome. Loki merely gave it a cursory glance, before he threw his hands up and began to pace the length of the room as best as he could. The entire day he had bitten his tongue, but now he would be allowed to speak.

 

Thor’s living area was quite different to Loki’s by far, expressing as much of his husband’s personality as his rooms once had of his, but now it seemed that all of Loki’s belongings had been relegated to boxes stored in the closet, as if by being out of sight that they would remain out of mind. Loki despaired of the gold and white theme, of how sparse and minimalist Thor’s rooms were, and how claustrophobic they felt despite all of this. He loathed that in an entire day – in rooms that were nearly as big as what his had been – that not one place could be used for his belongings. It was as if his individuality, his very personality and soul, were being stamped out entirely.

 

“You have not listened to me once, _not once_ , all day!” Loki shouted. “If a tantrum is what it takes to get you to listen to me, then why shouldn’t I act out? If I were still a prisoner then I could understand it, but I am not a prisoner, _I am your husband_ , and as such I demand to be treated with a bare modicum of respect!”

 

“Oh, that same respect you have shown me, Bro-? _Husband_?”

 

Thor marched across the room until he was a mere few inches from where Loki stood, until he was close enough that the other man could have easily have struck him a great blow had he still in possession his weaponry, and he looked somewhat furious despite the impeccable control he exerted over his anger. There had been a time when he would have lashed out at Loki physically, a time when if he didn’t strike his brother then he would have stormed out of the room in order to break something, but not anymore. He had changed and Loki could not deny that.

 

“You blame me for the favouritism our father has shown,” Thor snapped, “even when that is completely out of my power! You insult my allies and myself, you betray my trust every chance you get, and you destroy my property on a mere whim! That is not to mention the way you sought to subjugate the people I had sworn to protect!”

 

“Oh, so we are listing faults now, are we? You are far from perfect, Thor! You are the one who began this oncoming war by _invading_ Jotunheim and the one that _insulted_ his king out of vanity! You _still_ cannot control your temper! You risked my escape just so you could fight two complete strangers, and then fell for another of my tricks out of a need to put _me_ in my place! Pardon me, if I find you to be unworthy of my respect!”

 

“What do you want from me, Loki? I grew on Earth, I learned from my mistakes, but you still see me as nothing more than a spoiled child and an undeserving prince! I sacrificed Jane for you, I sacrificed my only chance at love for you -!”

 

“So I should just kneel before you in gratitude, is that it? I never _asked_ you for anything! I didn’t ask for this! You _stole_ my freedom!”

 

“What do you want from me, Loki? Tell me and cease this attitude!”

 

Loki drew in a deep breath and tried to remain calm. He hadn’t realised how heated the argument had become until the silence ensued, because now the quiet descended he could hear both his and Thor’s heavy breathing as loud as his heartbeat in his ears. It was a hissed breath from Thor and a near pant from himself, but combined it sounded unbearable, enough that their anger was palpable and seemed to fill the air with such tension that it made Loki almost afraid to speak.

 

He knew that he had failed his mother by treating Thor as he had, but without an outlet for his pain he may have exploded into an uncontrollable rage. He could not go back to that dark place again. It had been his rage that had nearly destroyed an entire planet, then later sought to enslave an entire race, and if he had been released from his prison in any other circumstance – without the constant eyes and close guard – he may have likely resorted to his role as trickster and villain, but he had been released with restrictions. He knew that he had to find some way to make a truce with Thor, because the only other alternative would be to return to the prisons.

 

“I do not want to continue life in the shadows,” Loki admitted with reluctance. “If I am to spend my time married to you making amends, then I need someone to _hear_ me. Any time I speak it seems that your words are so deafening that mine fall flat, and even when we are alone you tell me to wait to be heard . . .”

 

“I tried to listen to you! You merely began to throw my books on the floor and insult my person! I will listen to you when you speak with words, not with the tantrums of a child! I do not know what I can say to bring you back to your senses!”

 

“You _tried_ to listen to me? Interesting. Then tell me this, Thor Odinson, at what point will this marriage be annulled? What will happen when war is declared? What happens if an heir is expected of us? How will we act in public? How are we to address one another? I have asked these questions to you over and over, but all I get in return is an infuriating silence or to be told to ‘wait’. Well, I have waited; I have obeyed my husband ever so dutifully! If he has heard me, let him speak!”

 

“You want to know why I haven’t spoken, Loki?”

 

“Yes, _enlighten_ me.”

 

Thor walked to the sofa and threw himself onto it with little grace, an action that made him seem less a prince and more a warrior. He was evidently angry, and his rage was barely contained behind his stony expression and tense muscles, but he somehow managed to control his emotions. It was almost disturbing to see those blue eyes unmarred by negativity, as if – despite everything – he still felt a brotherly love for Loki that could not be diminished by any argument or fight. Loki half-wanted him to lash out, because at least if he lashed out then Loki would know how to react.

 

“I have no answers,” Thor snapped bitterly. “Father expects that the war is to come soon, whereas Mother hopes that we will draw closer to one another, but I hold no hope for either. It could well be that war does not come for many years, just as it could be that our relationship shall never be perfect, and if that is the case then I know not what to do. I can not give you answers that I do not have!”

 

“I never expected a grand or eloquent speech from a man whose arms have spent so long lifting weapons that they have no idea how to lift a pen, but it is a relief to get an honest answer at last. I suppose we will have plenty of time to discuss it later.”

 

“So will you cease to destroy my rooms? I am too tired for such battles.”

 

“If I can make some change to _our_ rooms, then yes.” 

 

Thor gave a weak smile. He had often relied on his fists to settle disagreements, but – after his banishment – he had learned to hold his tongue and to think before speaking. Loki admired the restraint that his husband showed. Thor still held many grievances against Loki; he had refused to visit him until a ‘solution’ had been found, and even then only because their reunion would be inevitable under such circumstances. It was no secret that Thor had chastised their mother for her visits to Loki’s cell, that he had questioned their father’s choice to look the other way as she sent her gifts, and – whilst Loki rotted in his cell – Thor had ‘selflessly’ defended the Nine Realms. He made it clear that he could not yet forgive Loki. Loki, as such, expected anger.

 

They stayed in an awkward silence for a long while, with each lost in thought. It seemed that Thor appeared to find something amusing in the situation, with that smile of his looking ever nostalgic and yet somewhat saddened, whilst Loki could merely breathe a sigh of relief at being heard for the first time since his capture on Earth. He had no delusions that Thor would truly listen to every word, or would even care or understand what he spoke, but at the moment it was simply enough to be _heard_. It would not be something he would admit to their mother, of course, lest he hear warm and hollow words about ‘progress’, but for now it was enough.

 

“I know that the plan is for a quick annulment,” Loki snapped, “but one of us must be realistic here, Thor. This marriage could last for a long while, and with that being the case I refuse to live like a stranger in my own home.”

 

“I will not object if you wish to make some changes,” Thor said tersely, “but just remember that these are not _your_ rooms, Loki. I do not wish to return to my rooms one day and find that they are decorated exactly as yours once were, with no touches of my own. I do not mind if these are to become _our_ rooms, but you must acknowledge that this marriage must be based on compromise and not control.”

 

“I just spent _months_ imprisoned in a cell, with the only luxuries what my mother sent to me, luxuries that you _and_ your father would have denied me. I think it’s not too much to ask that if I am to be uprooted into your rooms that I be allowed some of my personal belongings and to make some changes.”

 

“ _Some_ changes, Loki, not _all_! You are right, this marriage may last for a long time, longer than either of us dare consider, and as such we must find a way to live together in relative peace. These will be _our_ rooms, not yours and not mine, but _ours_.”

 

“Very well, then tell me: where will _we_ sleep?”

 

Thor stood up and ran a hand through his hair in frustration. It was clear that the long day had begun to take its toll and he likely wished to rest as much as Loki, but there was little doubt that he also would have rather spent the night drinking with his friends and wasting his time being social. Thor saw tonight as a night to celebrate, a once in a lifetime event that was to be commemorated, but it seemed that was the sacrifice of a ‘union’ . . . when one wishes to retire, so too must the other.

 

It seemed that Loki was left standing without answer for a few long moments, enough that he almost worried that he was to be ignored again, but then Thor walked towards the bedroom doors in a manner that seemed rather unsure for a man that usually exuded confidence. He looked to Loki for a split second with what seemed like deference, but what Loki recognised as being an unspoken question . . . the question of whether or not that he could be trusted. It was difficult not to feel offended, because it certainly wasn’t Thor standing defenceless on his wedding night before two unopened bedroom doors, but he was too aware of his brother’s ignorance to be slighted by such a look. He instead rolled his eyes with a sigh.

 

“I promise not to hold you accountable for whatever grand romantic gesture lies behind that door,” Loki said coldly, “if you will simply let me inside so that I can sleep. The sooner I sleep, the sooner I can pass this off as a bad nightmare.”

 

“You will not punish the servants either? They were rather excited at the prospect of a royal wedding, Loki, they do not deserve to be punished for doing their jobs.”

 

“Cross my heart and hope to die.”

 

Loki placed a hand across his chest. The only thing that broke the illusion of such sincerity was the devilish smile that played upon his lips, and the way his green eyes seemed to bore into Thor with an intensity that he usually lacked. It was obvious that he still had much to say, that his anger was barely restrained, but Thor’s reaction was one of nothing but patience and a calm disbelief. He clicked down upon the door-handles and gave Loki one last stare, because he would not proceed before he held some reassurance that his husband would not lash out again.

 

“Such a promise would mean more from one that has not already died,” Thor snapped. “I mean it, Loki! You will ignore the petals and candles and not make any snide comment. I am not in the mood for sarcasm, nor do I want to find out that you have had the guards flogged for allowing the servants entry! You will hold your tongue and together we will resolve the issue of sleeping arrangements.”

 

“I swear, Husband, that I will keep my temper.”

 

“Good.”

 

Thor pushed open the doors and marched inside. The room was almost exactly how Loki remembered, with most of the room taken up by the regal bed and little else in the way of furniture. It was complete with white furs and columns engraved with murals of epic battles. It spoke richly of Thor’s personality. It was everything that one would have expected from the heir to the throne, but surprisingly tidy for one that was used to throwing things upon the floor and having another remove them.

 

The only things out of place were the obvious items. Loki was fairly certain that the blond warrior was not the sort for incense of complex blends, ones that held scents only ever used for acts of consummation and brothel waiting rooms, and he was more than certain that the hundreds of lit candles were not something that Thor just happened to have ‘lying around’. He could feel the beginnings of a migraine from the low lighting and strong aromas, both of which were probably not the anticipated response if they were expecting him to swoon and fall into his husband’s arms. The white furs of the bed were even decorated by red petals, which would more likely stain the furs than they would provide even an element of romance.

 

There laid a door on either side of the bed, with the left leading to the closet and then onto the dressing room, and the right leading to a bathroom that perhaps put Loki’s to shame. He half-wondered if the servants had ran a bath for them, because there could be nothing more heavenly in that moment than a bath alone, but judging by the large and shallow bowl of oil on the bedside table . . . Loki breathed in deeply and tried to remind himself that most newlyweds would rather lounge in bed than bathe alone, but it was a thought that brought little comfort to him.

 

Loki closed the doors behind them and watched Thor indifferently. It seemed that – despite his accusations of Loki’s immaturity – the displays of romantic affection annoyed him more than it did his new spouse, and at once he had taken to extinguishing the candlelight and incense, which would take him far longer than it otherwise ought due to the sheer amount. Loki walked away from Thor and into the closet. There seemed to be very little else to do other than to check upon his belongings and clothing, because if he were to try and involve himself in putting ‘their’ room back to normal then he would likely break something in his rage. He _had_ promised Thor that he would stay calm, after all.

 

“You said my clothes were already in the closet?”

 

“That or in the dressing room,” Thor said a little too forcefully. “I imagine that they would be in the closet, but neither the servants nor our mother have told me anything. These changes were all made in my absence.”

 

“I see, then may I ask if you have _always_ owned so little clothing?”

 

Loki leaned against the doorway to the closet, which was slightly smaller than what his had been in his old rooms. The white colour scheme appeared to carry on inside the closet, with a mirror in every corner and a marble table in the centre, and yet Loki could only ignore the questionable décor for the question of how the space had been utilized. It seemed that three-quarters of the rails had been used for his various outfits, with almost all of the shelving being used for his helmets and accessories.

 

He heard Thor before he saw him, with his heavy boots thudding along the floor so loudly that Loki was sure that _this time_ the temper tantrum would come from his new husband instead. Thor pushed Loki to one side; it was not done cruelly, but in the brotherly way he had done so often in the past . . . the way that said ‘big brother is here to save to the day’. It was hard to imagine Odin pushing Frigga to one side in such a way, but Loki recognised that a millennium of ingrained habit was difficult to break. It would take time for Thor to treat him as a husband might.

 

“You had me worried that they had rid my clothing to make room for yours!” Thor exclaimed with a sound of relief. “I have never concerned myself too much about my attire, you should know this by now, Bro-! Husband . . .”

 

“I never knew that you were _this_ limited in choices, however.”

 

“Some of us do not need to primp and preen like peacocks to get attention.” The smile on his lips spoke of a gentle teasing and a lack of malice. “I have enough to customise my basic suit of armour accordingly, what more do I need? If you wish to buy me more clothes in your spare time, I would not object at all.”

 

“You can dress a pig in silk all you want, it will still be a pig,” Loki replied with a heavy sigh. “What did you do with this space before my belongings were moved in?”

 

“I simply spread my clothing out. It made items easier to find.”

 

“I give up. The dressing room is just ahead?”

 

“Unless it has moved.”

 

Loki breathed deeply and marched into the closet. It took only a moment to find a shelf dedicated to sleepwear, at which point he removed a long tunic and made his way into the dressing room, closing the door behind him. The tunic was a simple affair, but designed to match the green of his eyes and studded along the cuffs, it was comfortable and would hide his body. The bright side to a political marriage was that when he slipped into something more comfortable that it _was_ comfortable.

 

He walked into the centre of the room and threw the tunic upon the long sofa, which backed onto a beautifully carved golden table. The top appeared to be a circular design within a metal triangular shape, with a gold and silver border dipping high and low around it, and it reminded Loki of his childhood. He wondered if this room were an imitation of their mother’s dressing room, where Thor and Loki had fought and played as children whilst their mother sought to dress them for daily studies, and – as he looked at the mirror-plated walls and intricate designs upon the floor – he felt certain of that fact. It made Loki wonder if it was the choice of the architect or Thor to design the room in such a way, but nevertheless he appreciated its beauty.

 

The shutters had been closed, so that the far wall no longer displayed the landscape of their realm, and yet the darkness did not diminish the grandness of the room at all. Loki’s only concern was that centre of all of this was a grand dressing table with an ornate mirror, one that was directly opposite the sofa, and he had to question what sort of person would _wish_ to sit and watch another prepare in the privacy of such a room. It felt voyeuristic. If he were to ever sit at such a table, he would certainly not want a man like Thor watching him from the sofa behind. It felt an invasion of privacy.

 

It took Loki longer than he would have liked to change outfits, but without servants to help him out of the ceremonial outfit it was to be expected. He left the clothing upon the sofa for the servants to move later, then cast a look to the mirror for some sort of reassurance, but frankly Thor had seem him in far worse states than in simple nightwear. Loki knew that he didn’t need to feel ashamed of being underdressed, but this felt quite different . . . this was – after all – his ‘wedding night’.

 

‘ _Loki, are you quite done? There is still much to discuss!’_

Loki made his way back to the door to the closet and opened it forcefully. It seemed that Thor stood on the other side with his hair now dishevelled and the plaits removed, and he had also chosen to remain bare-chested as he stood against the doorframe, albeit he had thankfully chosen to wear sleeping-bottoms. Loki marched past him and made his way into the bedroom, but stopped short at the bed.

 

“So . . . would you prefer the left or the right side?”

 

“I do not expect for us to share, Loki,” Thor said, as he closed the door behind him. “The furs from your rooms should be in the boxes in the closet, I will use those and take them into the living-room. If you need me, I shall be on the sofa.”

 

“You are serious, Thor? Are you _trying_ to get me thrown back in prison?”

 

“I thought your privacy was what you wanted!”

 

It seemed that late nights and stress combined to make a civil conversation impossible, not that sincere discussion had ever been common between the two even when they had once been brothers. The frustration on Thor’s brow was evident, as much as the smell of sweat upon his body and the way his muscles flexed with the clenching of his fists and arms, but Loki ignored that and tried to remain calm. It amazed him that his brother could show such wisdom at times, but then dash that to hell with a shortsighted decision that could ruin all they had sacrificed so far.

 

“I want nothing more than for my own room,” Loki said honestly, “but do you have _any_ idea what will happen if you sleep in the living-room, if even for one night? Tomorrow the servants will come, they will see that you and I have slept in different places, and then they will talk amongst themselves about how scandalous it is for a married couple to fight so severely on their first night together. They will know that the marriage has not been consummated.

 

“Then what if you make it a habit? They will see day after day after day that you have slept away from your bed, your _marital_ bed, and then the gossip will spread around the entire realm and eventually mention of it will be made to your father. Do you think he will have any choice but to annul a marriage that is widely known to be a sham, a _farce_? You will be pressured into marrying someone else; whereas I will be shoved back into my cell to rot until the day I die. You married me to save me, _Husband_. Will you cast me aside so quickly after all of this?”

 

“Loki, this is not appropriate! I cannot share a bed with you under the guise of two that are married! It is simply not done. Do you expect me to shake my feelings of brotherhood so readily? Even if it is platonic, I cannot share with my brother.”

 

“What a sense of _déjà vu_ ,” Loki spat. “Earlier you argued that a kiss was fine, so long as it was platonic, and yet now you will not even share a bed. We have shared dozens of times. I remember only a few months before your banishment you falling into my room, telling me in a drunken stupor that Sif had wondrous _assets_ and that my eyes were like emeralds, then you passed out. I do not see how this is any different, unless you have somehow stopped snoring and releasing foul bodily odours in your sleep?”

 

It seemed that neither man could keep their anger in check. Loki had to acknowledge that he understood Thor’s feelings, because they had considered each ‘brothers’ since their very first memories, and so to be labelled now as a pair of newlywed spouses – with the same expectations that came with such a union – was quite a disturbing prospect. That was not to say that such feelings would be impossible, but Loki knew that they were impossible in that moment, and as such the romantic trappings about the room made the bed suddenly feel a much more intimate place than it ought.

 

The problem was that this _was_ a political union, one that left no room for personal feelings, and so it mattered not to the world how Thor and Loki considered each other. They were no longer siblings. There was no blood between them, no acknowledgement of their bond from their father and ruler, and a great need to unite two kingdoms, two kingdoms to which each one stood for as a keen symbol in their own way. The world did not care that Loki and Thor had only just begun to dissolve their relationship as siblings, that only just were they coming to terms with what it meant to know the other as fellow men, because to the world all that mattered was the marriage itself. There was no room for sentimentality. They had to be practical.

 

“I still do not think it the same at all,” Thor snapped. “You are right though; even if this union is merely a political one, it must seem legitimate to outside eyes. I will take the right side. Would you remove the oil, Loki? I find it offensive.”

 

“Really? I find that surprising from your reading materials.”

 

“ _Loki_ , now is not the time!”

 

Loki waved a hand dismissively and walked over to the bed. He opened the door to the cabinet that sat as part of the bedside table, and then placed the bowl of oil inside, before he closed the door without so much of a second-glance. He made a large gesture of rising with a bow. It was difficult for him not to watch with great curiosity every movement or expression that Thor made, because it seemed that his husband sought to hide a great deal many of emotions from Loki, perhaps in desire to become the great king that his father wished. Loki wanted to know what it was that he felt.

 

Their mother would chastise Loki for over-analysing those closest to him, but it felt the only way to learn his husband’s feelings. Thor seemed no longer in the mood to discuss things further and so stormed his way around the bed without looking Loki in the eye even once. It made him wonder why Thor felt so ashamed. Did he resent lying next to one that once was his brother, only just learning to sever those ties and see Loki as simply a man, or was it what Loki represented that disgusted him so?

 

Loki climbed into the bed and lay down on his back, with his hands upon his stomach above the furs, and suddenly he felt vulnerable. He knew that he could trust Thor, and yet it felt far different lying in such an exposed manner beside someone that was – for all intents and purposes – his husband. He knew the weight of such a title. He knew what society would believe had occurred between them, what the court would expect of them at formal and social events, and yet what was to happen behind closed doors . . . that was between Thor and Loki solely, something neither had yet to work out.

 

“I do not hate you, Loki,” Thor said firmly.

 

Loki scoffed loudly at his words. They felt like a lie, because there was no way that such a man – full of honour and strength – could rest beside someone like Loki and sincerely mean them. Loki was still a prisoner and a criminal, and he had treated his husband so cruelly that if Thor felt anything _other_ than hate then he was to be pitied rather than admired. He held his tongue and said nothing as Thor crawled into bed beside him, albeit with a large distance between the two. The bed dipped quite a lot under Thor’s weight and caused discomfort for Loki.

 

“I just wish that you would be honest with me,” Thor confided. “You have a habit of saying one thing and meaning another. I have yet to meet any other man that can express a lie whilst telling the truth . . . when you told me that our father was dead, you did not lie, did you? I see now, you genuinely believed he was to die, but you expressed yourself in such a way as to hide your fear.”

 

“Oh Thor, suddenly so perceptive. _Loki_ . . . always so afraid of being honest with his feelings – so terrified of rejection – that he has to word himself so carefully that no one ever takes him seriously. Yes, you really captured my personality so poignantly.”

 

“See, you are doing it now!”

 

“Am I? I do apologise.”

 

“Stop it! I mean it!”

 

“Stop what?”

 

Thor growled and threw himself onto his side, which jostled the bed and caused the furs to pull mostly over to his side. Loki abided it, mostly as he did not wish to fight his husband on such a trivial matter, but he could not help but think Thor’s words over in his head. There was something painfully sharp about the other man’s observations, something that he did not wish to admit, and something that irked him and yet amused him at once. He gave a smirk and rolled over to speak to Thor’s back.

 

“You know that mother says to never go to sleep angry,” Loki quipped.

 

“ _Go to sleep, Loki_.”

 


	7. Chapter 7

# Chapter Seven

****

Loki found it difficult to concentrate.

 

He sat upon the ledge with his legs outstretched, whilst he rested his back against the wall for support, and he would readily admit to it being quite a comfortable corner for him to hide. The sun was bright, but the arches above him provided him with some shade, and the stone walkway to his left was empty and bare, with most of the palace’s occupants otherwise engaged with training or simply avoiding the bright sunlight for other pursuits. It would have been peaceful.

 

The difficulty came from the ‘blessing’ known as marriage. It seemed that this particular courtyard was still considered ‘out-of-bounds’ for what had once been a war criminal, and so to sit in what had once been one of his favourite places to read now required the use of a chaperone. He was grateful to Thor for escorting him to the places he wished to visit, but there was a great frustration at being unable to wander freely as he once had. He had given up his cell for the binds of marriage, but with that came the illusion of freedom without the actual freedom itself. He looked free, he looked relaxed, but the truth was that he was bound to his husband’s allowances.

 

It did not help that Thor was unable to endure silence or solitude. Thor was a man of action, so that even when he mourned he did so surrounded by the company of others, and to sit in silence – alone with only his thoughts – seemed to send the young warrior into a state of frustration. No sooner had Loki opened his book had Fandral, Volstagg and Sif joined his husband in the courtyard just to his right side, where the four split into two pairs, each one sparring as if this were a chance to train rather than a chance to relax. Then again, to spar _was_ to relax to his husband and his primitive friends.

 

“You should join us, Husband!”

 

Loki rolled his eyes and turned the page. The sound of metal clashing against metal echoed loudly, and every now and again he would hear grunts and pants and even strong curses from those that fought. He wondered how long it would be until someone was taken to a healer, but more so he wondered if he would be forced to put his book down to follow said ‘husband’ to the healer. It would not do to leave one such as Loki unattended. He would have to remember to take his book with him.

 

“I think not,” Loki said coldly. “It would not be wise to allow me a sword, Thor.”

 

“Come now, you do not think that you could hurt me, do you?”

 

“On the contrary, I do not think that I could refrain from doing anything else. It is tempting, I will give you that, but – _alas_ – I value what freedoms I _do_ have too much than to risk them in some petty swordfight. Thank you, but I shall have to decline.”

 

He heard Fandral let out a loud laugh. It caused Loki to tighten his hands upon his book in irritation, because regardless of his past he was still a prince and he was still the husband to the heir. It was difficult to endure such mockery, but until he proved his worth then there was very little to be done about it. Fandral had every right to mock him: Loki was nothing more than a fallen warrior enduring his comeuppance.

 

Sif shouted for Thor to concentrate, whilst Volstagg appeared to launch a full attack on Fandral in his moment of distraction, refusing to give any warning, and so the sounds of battle continued. There were occasional moments when Thor’s sparring matches would lead him close to Loki, enough that the young man actually had to pause reading as a red cape would fall across the pages of his book, and he could only assume that the blond prince wanted attention. It was hard to picture what any other newlywed husband may have done in his place. Loki wondered if he were supposed to watch intently and cheer Thor on, because frankly he could think of nothing worse.

 

‘ _Thor, do not show off! You enable me to get the upper-hand!’_

_‘Please! I am not yet giving it my all! It will take more than that to win against me!’_

Yes, it seemed that he was indeed attempting to show off. Loki had been rather used to it throughout the years, but it never ceased to amaze him how such a man could think that brute strength could ever be anything close to awe-inspiring. It wasn’t that Loki could not appreciate the effort and dedication such a way of life required, especially when Thor himself could do things that no other warrior could, but he resented that such skill could be considered superior to sorcery.

 

He closed his book with a silent sigh and glanced across the courtyard briefly, where he could see that that Thor fought well with a talent that Loki himself admittedly lacked, and the younger man regretted that his time imprisoned had taken from him his ability to train with sword and fists. It was not easy to keep up with those around him, least of all without practise, and now he had been forbidden from so much as owning a weapon, least of all to wield one. If word went back to Odin that Loki had been so much as _offered_ the chance to merely hold a weapon, it would be likely that said person would be called forth and accused of treason. He was powerless.

 

Thor clashed swords with Sif and then gave a furious spin to one side. He evaded her sword, but it caused him to enter centre of the sparring match that occurred beside him, which meant that he now was forced to dodge the attacks of two competitors as opposed to one. It meant very little to Loki, until – that was – he caught Thor’s gaze and saw the amused smirk on the blond man’s face. He was fought knowing that Loki watched. He was showing off . . .

 

“Your husband fights well,” said a voice.

 

Loki looked to his left and saw Frigga standing with a smile. She was dressed in a beautiful blue gown, complete with a fur cape and muff, which struck Loki as unusual when the weather seemed so warm. He had spent so long in the dungeons that he still felt sensitive to changes in temperature; it was possible that the sunlight and clear skies were more deceptive than they felt. The silver furred accessories suited her well.

 

He gave a sigh and sent a glance to Thor, who in turn cast a curious gaze back and was distracted just enough that Sif was able to land a hit that would have been fatal were the fight for real. Loki held back a smirk. He knew that his mother would disapprove of his mockery, but luckily she spoke no word of it and merely stood beside the ledge with a grace that he envied, and as she looked out over the courtyard it seemed that her smile grew upon the sight of her other son. He admired her ability to feign interest in a sparring match, because it seemed that an ability to feign interest was something that Odin lacked. She made it seem both easy and natural.

 

“I was just about to leave,” Loki admitted. “There is little reason to stay.”

 

“You would not stay for your mother’s sake? I wish to linger here for a little while; if you are not in any rush, I would be very grateful for your company. It feels as if I have seen so little of you in the month since your wedding.”

 

“That was no accident. It is no secret that I have barely left my rooms,” Loki snapped as he adjusted the book in his lap. “That does, of course, mean I have had to endure countless rumours and comments about what that means for my relationship with Thor, but it is preferable than having to tolerate such mockery in person. I apologise, it was not my intent to avoid you in the process.”

 

“I understand that you wish to shut out the world, my son, but you should know that you can not hide forever from what frightens you. Tell me, how is your relationship with Thor, is that at least going well?”

 

“It is going as well as could be expected.”

 

Loki looked across the courtyard to Thor, but was unable this time to catch his eye. There was a part of him grateful for the fact that he finally free from the attentions of his husband, but there was another undeniable part that felt somewhat slighted, because he felt that surely he had to be more interesting than any petty sparring competition. He tore his eyes away with an unsure glare, but instead caught his mother’s all-knowing stare and somewhat suspicious looking smile.

 

“Our relationship has improved enough that I might tentatively call it a ‘friendship’,” Loki admitted begrudgingly. “If you were hoping for anything more, you may be unfortunately disappointed. Our nights seem to be filled with my early retirement after reading, followed by Thor awakening me with drunken snoring after he slinks back to our rooms after evenings spent with the Warriors Three.”

 

“What of your days together?”

 

“You mean when my darling husband isn’t fighting in some faraway land, feasting with friends, or training with the men? Then it is spent like now, with us both occupying the same space and yet entertained by separate pursuits.”

 

Loki raised the book in his hands slightly, just enough that she could see that he had not left his rooms simply to watch his husband fight. It was difficult to get her to see that he had no interest to remain, especially when she appeared to wear an amused and disbelieving smile, almost as if she could see something that he could not. It was a difficult situation for Loki. On the one hand he felt castrated without his weapon or a chance to prove himself, but he also felt far underdressed before Frigga. He had not expected for there to be other people, as such he had not dressed to socialise.

 

He wore simple black trousers and shoes, with a green tunic-styled top and sleeveless leather coat, but he had kept his hair immaculate and slicked back into his usual style, which – at least – led him to feeling somewhat less self-conscious than he otherwise may have done. It was a relief to have all his outfits at his disposal, rather than limited to what few were available to him within his cell, and perhaps because of this he felt more inclined to focus upon his looks than before. He had appeared shameful in his cell. He had lashed out on hearing of his ‘choice’ and his image suffered for it. He never wanted to appear that way again . . . bloody, broken, and dishevelled . . . he had relied too much on his illusions to keep the illusion of an indifferent man.

 

“That you would consider him a friend,” Frigga said gently, “is an accomplishment in itself. They say that love based upon friendship is a love built upon a solid foundation, a foundation that not many can boast, and so this is a feat that harbours good fortune for the future. You know that I love my husband as much today as the day that we met, but even I shall admit that we were lovers first and friends later.”

 

“You hold more hope for this relationship than the people within it,” replied Loki. “Let me put it this way: it may be a _very_ long time before you can expect one named Thorson or Thorsdóttir, Mother. Well, that is assuming that my husband hasn’t any _extra-curricular_ activities that I know not about. I dare say I would not be surprised.”

 

“I dare say that I would be _very_ much surprised. Thor is an honourable man and a man of his word, and so he has taken his vows to you with a sincerity that is admirable for one that expects nothing but chastity from a platonic union.”

 

“You forget that I am chained to Thor. He has the freedom that I do not.”

 

“He would not abuse that freedom, Loki.”

 

They were words that he longed to believe. The truth of the matter was that the marriage between them had been more or less forced; Thor had acted out of a desire to rescue his brother and Loki had taken the first chance of escape that presented itself. The marriage itself had yet to change anything, only that there was now the added stress of sharing rooms and sleeping beside one another. It was far from perfect, but the centuries had taught them well how to deal with a bad situation.

 

Loki was glad that things could be civil, even if their arguing had brought them nearly to blows on occasion, but he knew well that Thor still held deep affection for a certain mortal. It was a difficult sentiment to express without being accused of jealousy, but the fact of the matter was that his feelings stemmed from self-preservation. Thor was entitled to his feelings; it was not as if Loki wanted anything from him other than eventual freedom, but the more that Thor pined for the love of another . . . it did not help that he had visited her twice this month alone. If Thor were accused of infidelity, the marriage would be annulled and Loki would be returned to his cells.

 

“You did not see the runes upon my shackles,” Loki said saddened voice. “Thor brought me here muzzled like an animal, then shackled me in chains wrought with the same enchantment that brings Mjölnir to life, and it was he alone that held the power to release me. Nothing has changed, Mother. The only difference is that before my chains were visible, now they exist under the name of ‘husband’.”

 

“Do you honestly mistake ties for chains?” Frigga asked with a sincere hint of concern. “You mistake duty for servitude and vulnerability for helplessness. I will admit willingly to owing my husband many a duty, to relying on him for so much, but do you really think that I do so out of force? Our marriage is one of compromise and mutual support, so all that I owe him he too owes me . . .

 

“I give to Odin all that I can, because I feel a love that compels me and a duty to which I cannot deny, and in return he gives me so much more. I never worry that he will be unfaithful, I never fear that he may hurt me, because I have seen the way that his smile awakens at the sight of me, the tears he sheds when he sees my pain, and the way that he sacrifices his happiness for my own. He broke all laws and conventions to keep you alive. He went against his wishes to allow this marriage to take place. He did all that out of _love_. That is what marriage is about, my son.

 

“You may think me weak for serving the man I love, but I do not see a one-sided union, rather two souls that strive to support the other and create perfection out of chaos, two people that would willingly do all that they can for one another, even if the world may not see it. The only difference between us is that I would willingly confess my heart and soul to the one I love, I would tell him my every fear and every doubt, and as such he can ease my concerns and give me closure. If you would trust Thor –”

 

“Then what? I find it difficult to believe that one heartfelt discussion would conveniently heal years of pain. It is enough that we have found means to be civil to one another, I refuse to jeopardise that by losing all the respect I have so far earned. I will not _humiliate_ myself only to humour you and Thor! He cares not for my feelings, only for those of his friends and Jane Foster.”

 

“Intimacy is not the same as weakness, Loki.”

 

Loki winced and drew in a deep breath.

 

He did not wish to get into a discussion concerning self-worth or fears of rejection, least of all in a place where Thor could overhear, because it was not in his interests to bare his feelings. He did not want them to be used against him, especially because he would know that he had _allowed_ them such a power over him were he to willingly confess, and – whilst he knew that he could trust Frigga – he could not trust his ability to remain calm when faced with such difficult questions. He could not answer her. 

 

The truth was that intimacy, to Loki, was the same as weakness. He could not imagine bearing his heart to someone; his last memory of such a thing had been his father’s rejection in the armoury, followed by his father losing consciousness and the belief that his father would die. It seemed that to bare emotion was to have it used against him and to have emotion was to welcome grief. That was to say nothing of other sorts of intimacy, which required far greater levels of trust, and frankly he resented the insinuation that he was weak merely for using commonsense.

 

The sound of sparring had dimmed and the sound of metal upon metal was replaced with laughter and loud conversation. Loki could make out criticism and praise from both sides, as they sought to improve each other’s performance through tips and complaints. He wondered if Thor would listen . . . it was then that he caught his gaze. Thor placed a hand upon Volstagg’s arm and gave a wave of acknowledgement to his other two companions, and when Sif questioned him he evaded her with an answer that was brief and vague. He made his way over to the wall and ledge where Loki sat and offered forth a brilliant smile. He sheathed his sword and seemed oblivious to how his friends watched him. They still did not trust Loki around Thor.

 

“Loki! You should have fought, I could have done with real competition!”

 

“Real competition, is it?” Fandral burst out into laughter. “At our _last_ count, Sif had you beat two-to-one! You should spend less time flirting with your husband and more time concentrating on the fight at hand! The honeymoon should be over with now!”

 

“You have never been married,” Volstagg replied. “The romance is never just confined to the marriage bed, my friend! Any time your eyes meet you feel a love unlike any other, it has nothing to do with mere lust! Thor merely wants to show his best side in battle, to impress his husband, isn’t that right, Thor?”

 

“Enough!” Sif drew her weapon and pointed it between them. “Thor is our prince and our friend, I will not have you mocking him for this unfortunate predicament. If you have something to say, say it with your fists or with your swords!”

 

“You think you can take on two men at once, do you?”

 

“No, but I do not see two men, only boys.”

 

“Aha! Get ready then, _Lady_ Sif!”

 

Loki could not help but to smirk at the sight. It was just like those without the gift for words to settle arguments with fists instead, and indeed the two men were at once upon her and fighting with sincere vigour. There was no malice in their actions, their argument was nothing more than a play-fight borne of teasing, and indeed they seemed to accomplish more together now that Thor was out of the fighting than when he had been participating. His husband’s showing off had slowed them down.

 

Thor ignored his friends with a slightly embarrassed smile, and then leaned upon the ledge with an exaggerated gesture. He looked up to their mother and nodded a greeting at her, then looked to Loki with a rather curious expression that could not be put into words, one that made Loki tempted to kick out his leg and strike Thor, but . . . he could not act out in view of his mother. She wished for them to find peace together and to lash out would cause her a great disappointment. Thor did not deserve to be kicked, but more so their mother did not deserve to be hurt by seeing them hurt.

 

“Are you sure you will not spar with me, Loki?” Thor asked kindly. “If you are still forbidden from wielding a weapon, we could fight with fists instead. It has been lonely with Hogun in Vanaheim, I could do with some company, that is if you can hold you own after a month locked in our rooms with nothing but books!”

 

“I find it amazing that – even after knowing I prefer the company of a pile of paper to my husband – you would think that I would wish to spar with you. I am afraid that I shall have to decline. I have better things to do than feign an interest in your life.”

 

“Is that so? I noticed that you watched me fight, regardless of your lack of interest.”

 

“I was simply _amazed_ at your amateurish mistakes, Husband.”

 

“Then will you not teach me a thing or two?”

 

Loki clenched his hands around the spine of his book. He disliked Thor’s tactic of trying to _provoke_ him into spending time together, not least because it detracted from Loki’s established routine, and yet for the past four weeks it seemed that his husband insisted upon ‘quality time’ to maintain their image of a couple in love. Luckily, due to Thor’s vast amount of time in battle and training, their time together consisted mainly of sleep, the occasional shared meal and silence as Loki read. It was the first time that he had challenged him to a fight, however, which seemed a foolish choice given Loki’s immense anger that had yet to be resolved.

 

It was difficult to ignore the dark expression that Thor wore, almost as if he were both offended and yet somehow curious. The narrowing of his eyes indicated that he was greatly displeased with Loki’s reaction, whilst the sincere smile on his mouth showed a genuine desire to spend time with the other, and the complexity of such emotions left Loki suspicious. Thor simply was not capable of depth, but even if he were the question remained how a man could feel both displeasure and yet desire for another.

 

Loki found himself interested in what exactly Thor wanted, because the other man clearly did not seek romance and also espoused clear distrust in Loki. He sat up properly and abandoned his slight slouch, then crossed his legs and gave a smirk that showed his curiosity in the matter. He could see Frigga’s warning stare as he waited for Thor to speak, as well as the anger increasing on Thor’s brow as he saw that his husband was taking this less than seriously, and he was certain that he could hear the sounds of sparring grow further away, almost as if Sif – sensing something dangerous to come – purposely led her friends away to give the two spouses some privacy.

 

“There is nothing I could teach you,” Loki said coldly, “that your brain could possibly hope to retain. I would not go against you in a fight even if I were promised my freedom in return, it simply would not be worth it.”

 

“I find it amazing, Loki, that – even after all this time – you are still so cowardly when it comes to battle! I wonder if you are afraid to face an opponent head-on, rather than hiding behind illusions and deceit. You walk away so often that your backside has become more memorable than your face!”

 

“Whilst I am honoured you would consider my backside worth remembering, I would ask that you keep your insults to yourself. I am _far_ from a coward! If I do not battle an enemy that I _know_ has me at a distinct disadvantage, I would like to think that to be a display of intellect rather than cowardice. Do you wish for my attention? Is that it? You are like a child that believes that unless it is constantly watched that it is unloved! I do not see why it should be my duty to humour you! Go to your friends to fight.”

 

“I am tired of fighting with you, Loki! Is this how you envision our future?”

 

Thor smashed his fist down hard enough on the ledge that it caused Loki to jolt, enough that it made him worry that perhaps the ledge would break underneath him. It caused an almost imperceptible wince to pass across Frigga’s face. There also came a brief moment of silence from the three fighting, as if they paused to make sure that no harm had come to Thor, but in an instant their fight continued and the only other sound that Loki could hear came from his husband’s heavy and forced breath. Thor’s face had reddened and his blue eyes seemed to bore holes into Loki’s soul.

 

“I know that many things have changed between us,” Thor said coldly, “but I refuse to spend the rest of my life arguing and fighting over every little thing! I know that the man I once knew still exists within you; I have seen him in these past few weeks, when he has spoken to me with great civility. Why do you insist on then making things more difficult than they need be? Do you hate me that much, Husband?”

 

“I hated you once,” Loki admitted, as he looked away from Thor. “I do not hate you now, but nor does that mean that I shall fall at your feet or exist solely to warm your bed. I do not know what you want from me, Thor! You long for the brother you lost, treat me as you would a friend, but then yearn for my attention like a jealous husband seeking validation from his spouse! Do you honestly blame me for resenting you?”

 

“Then you wish to define our relationship in clearer terms?”

 

“This is not a relationship! This is a sham of a marriage! I will not deny it would be nice to know what it is that you want from me, but for now I would settle for a _status quo_ of what we had. I would rather the tentative friendship that allows us to pursue our individual interests, rather than for you to so _selflessly_ allow me entry to the courtyard only for you to just _happen_ to spar with your friends in the _loudest_ way possible. I only wish that I could resort to trickery, it would give me some escape.”

 

“Ah, so it’s ‘trickery’ now, is it? I thought that you objected to that word.”

 

“They are _my_ ‘tricks’, unlike you I can call them whatever I like.”

 

“You are _my_ husband, I can call you what I like, Jo-!”

 

 _‘Enough. You will be silent_.’

 

Frigga did not need to raise her voice. The tone that she used was firm and authoritative, the sound of a mother that sought to chastise her children out of love and to instil a sense of discipline in them, and there was not so much as a hint of anger in her voice. Loki knew that there was no room left for argument, not lest they insult her presence and disobey her command, and he respected her far too much for that.

 

Thor did not look his mother in the eye. He appeared to be too embarrassed to be caught in the midst of a long-standing sibling rivalry, as if they had barely grown at all in the past few centuries, and just to see the faint blush upon his cheeks was enough to make Loki smirk. The truth was that they were ‘friendly’ for want of a better term, but a lifetime of childish bickering was hard to break. Frigga took a step forward and gave a stern look to both men. The fur about her shoulders and hands stood out brightly in contrast to the rest of her attire, enough that it gave Loki something to focus his gaze upon, whilst Thor stared at the floor like a petulant child. It was then that she stepped towards the ledge and reached out to her eldest son, whose cheek she touched with such kindness that her love spoke through the gesture.

 

She then turned with a sad smile and reached out to Loki in the same way. He felt her warm hand on his cheek, he even felt his hand unclench upon the book that he had not even realised his fist had tightened upon, and he felt his eyes watery as if out of an instinct he had not even been aware. There was a relief unlike any other that she had remembered him, because for one brief moment he had thought that she had chosen Thor over him . . . she returned to her hands to the muff and sighed.

 

“Is this what you would call friendship? Is this to you what a union of two souls means?” Frigga asked firmly. “I have seen the way that you look to each other for support and reassurance. I have seen the way that you seek out the other’s gaze when the gaze of any other would do. There is love there. It is always difficult to recognise the signs of love, unless you have already experienced it, but trust one that has lived longer than she care to admit . . .

 

“It may be difficult for you to acknowledge, and perhaps it is that your love is not romantic, but instead a platonic love so deep and meaningful that it seems like more to one that wishes only for the greatest of happiness to fall upon you. I know that you have had moments of civil companionship, but those moments will fast become meaningless if your most powerful memories are ones of distrust. It takes a hundred words of love to erase but one word of hate. I will leave you to think about what is more important: your image or your happiness.”

 

“Mother, I care nothing for my image,” Thor snapped. “It is Loki that thinks that by insulting me that he can keep his indifferent image and regain some control! I have done nothing put his interests first!”

 

“ _My_ interests? Do you see this book here? You have read just as much of it as I have in the last twenty minutes! It is _you_ who felt it so necessary to distract me, you are nothing but a selfish and whining prince, desperate to put me in my place!”

 

“Jealousy becomes neither of you,” Frigga said sadly.

 

Frigga’s words felt dark. It felt as if she had placed a dagger to Loki’s heart, because there was something about her words that felt both humiliating and yet perceptive, as if she had seen something that both men would rather leave unexplored. Did Loki envy Thor? It was not a thought that he would wish to explore in depth. He could not deny that everything Thor had done whilst they were brothers had been irritating and idiotic, to the point where it felt as if his every action towards Loki had been borne out of merciless teasing. Loki had not envied him in the past, instead he had pitied him and spent his every moment trying to save his brother from himself and secretly alerting their father to Thor’s schemes to prevent them from falling into harm. It was different now, but even then Thor had not been _completely_ without merit.

 

He had been the favourite child for a reason. He was incredibly strong and more intelligent than many gave him credit for, with an ability to learn from mistakes and adapt his strategies in future situations, and yet it did not seem as if Frigga meant to imply he envied his husband’s talents. It had been a mere month, only just were they learning to become friends and still Loki held an immense pain that he could not erase, and yet she seemed to see something else, something that he could not. It seemed as if she thought they craved one another’s attention and validation.

 

“I will take my leave,” she said sadly, “but _please_ play nice.”

 

Frigga leaned down to Loki to place a kiss upon his forehead, before she acted the same with Thor and gave them both a warm smile. In the distant part of the courtyard there could be heard the sound of laughter and swordplay, with the three warriors still competing despite their exhaustion and perhaps waiting for their friend’s return, and suddenly he felt more natural than he had felt since the day of his imprisonment. It was almost as if things were back as they once were. Frigga walked away and left the two men to their conversation . . .

 

“If I apologise,” Loki said coldly, “will you leave me alone?”

 

“I care for you too much to abandon you now, Loki.”

 

“How chivalrous. If you care for me so much, then why is it that you have been visiting a certain Jane Foster as of late? I am no fool, Thor, I know that you have been spending time with her upon Midgard.”

 

“Oh, so this is jealousy after all? Who told you of this?”

 

Loki rolled his eyes and swung his legs over the side of the ledge. It was difficult to remain calm, but he had to remind himself that if he were to act with any perceived violence then it would end badly for him, because if Thor’s friends did not jump to his defence then it was certain that the many guards around the perimeter of the courtyard would. He stood up next to Thor and placed his book on the ledge, and tried to keep as calm as he possibly could.

 

It was difficult to be accused of jealousy so often. There could be denying that he felt some affection to Thor, after all there was still a deep brotherly love between the two and they were forced to endure living in close quarters, but to be _jealous_ was something that was quite alien to Loki. He would not begrudge his husband time spent with other people, because time spent with others was less time spent disturbing Loki from his solitude, but to spend it with _Jane_ . . . a known love interest . . . it was to court disaster and ruin their marriage. That was the extent of his feelings.

 

“I paid a guard to follow you and speak to Heimdall on my behalf.”

 

“Is that right? It seems that once we were married that the label of ‘spouse’ has caused you to act differently, Loki, and I think that perhaps your desire for clearer terms of our relationship is due to your pondering upon what this marriage means for us.”

 

“Yes, you have read my mind,” Loki sneered. “I love you so unconditionally that the moment the ceremony ended I was forced to revaluate my feelings, and now any time that I see you with another I feel as if my heart is cleft atwain. _Grow up, Thor_ _!_ One of us must be pragmatic here! You cannot be seen gallivanting about with your crush! If word gets out that you are romantically tied to another then –”

 

“Jane Foster has been ill,” Thor said coldly.

 

Thor ran a hand through his hair. He left his hand upon his neck for a long moment, whilst his gaze turned to his friends as if seeking some sort of support, and the only look he received in turn was Sif’s brief look of concern. It was only when he looked back to Loki that the younger man could see the concern written across his husband’s face. Thor had paled considerably and when he dropped his hand he did so with a sad smile, so that it seemed as if the very act of smiling had become a chore. Loki would have felt guilty, but it was difficult to feel guilt when Thor had lied to him.

 

“It has been a fortnight since she has felt alarm,” Thor explained gently. “I believe it may be serious, but the past week has confirmed it so. Heimdall alerted me to her situation and I have been there to offer her emotional support between my battles in the other realms and my time spent with you. You should know that – despite my love for her – I have been sure never to spend time with her unsupervised. I have not broken my vows to you. You can trust me.”

 

“Thor, I have loved you more than any other, you were my brother and my friend, and now – despite my wishes – you are my husband, but you _must_ face facts! Your dedication to this woman is admirable, but if you keep up these visits -! Fine, do you _want_ me to return to my cell? _Then carry on, Thor_! Carry on and see what happens!”

 

“Loki, I am sorry that my actions have caused you grief, but my intention was not to hurt you! I could not tell you about my visits to Earth, for you would tell Mother and she would tell Father. I would be forbidden from such travels within an instant!”

 

“Ah, so _there_ is the trust you talk so much about!”

 

“Loki, I -!”

 

Thor wrung his hands and turned his back to Loki. The only sound was the sound of Thor’s heavy breathing and the distant murmurings of Sif and Fandral, almost as if the two had much to say and yet daren’t say it. He knew what they were thinking, the insults and the judgements cast upon him, but he also knew that so long as Thor stood in earshot that they would not say a word against him. They watched him intently.

 

It was then that Thor gave a low sigh and turned his gaze back to Loki, although his expression was a lot softer than Loki had anticipated. It was almost as if the anger had left him in that single breath, and in his blue eyes Loki thought that he saw a glimmer of hope that perhaps his husband wasn’t completely oblivious to the problems between them. Thor then gave a smile. In that instant any ideas that Loki had about his husband’s sense of seriousness and understanding were dashed, and he saw that it was merely Thor’s boundless optimism that pushed him forward and into patience.

 

“You are right,” Thor admitted heavily, “I do not and can not trust you, but I _do_ love you and would not see you hurt. Mother is right, we need to find some middle ground. I have done sparring for now. Would you do me the honour of eating with my friends and me? There is much to discuss.”

 

“I do not feel as if _you_ have the right to be the mature one here,” Loki said with a slight smile. “ _I_ was the one that they planned to be your advisor and right-hand man once you ascended the throne. I think that entitles me to be the bigger man.”

 

“Then you shall eat with us? I shall make sure that Fandral holds his tongue.”

 

“You would have to cut it out first.”

 

Loki gave a smile and tried to remain calm. He could not deny to feeling somewhat peckish, and without Thor then he would not be allowed access to the food hall outside of set mealtimes. The only alternative would be to read alone in his rooms, but after a month of solitude something told him that it would be good to mingle with the rest of the palace. It was possible he could learn something in the process.

 

“Very well, but do not think yourself forgiven, Thor.”

 

“So long as neither do you, then of course.”

 


	8. Chapter 8

# Chapter Eight

****

“You know, of course, that _we_ will get the blame . . .”

 

Fandral paced before the fire rather like a man possessed. It was clear that he was worried and somewhat frustrated, but that those feelings were also exacerbated by a sense of helplessness. His hand twitched upon the hilt of his sword, a reflex so ingrained into him that it became an instinctual reaction to any stress, and as he walked he kept his head low and his stride wide. Sif knew that look well from so many years in battle. He wanted to leap into action.

 

It was an understandable reaction, because they were born warriors and people of action, their blood was there to be spilt and to spill that of others in turn, and to be forced to sit . . . to wait . . . was a sin unlike any other. They were used to resolving issues in an instant, they believed that to die in battle was to achieve an honour unlike any other, and those who sat were those too cowardly to fight. There was an important issue that needed to be resolved, but – when there was no enemy to fight or battle to be won – their options were limited. In time they would receive word of what was occurring outside of their reach, but until then there was nothing to be done.

 

“They cannot blame us,” Volstagg interrupted, “we hardly have power over a prince!”

 

“We are his closest friends and allies! Do you really think for a moment that they will believe that we had no knowledge of it? They will think that we kept such things from the Allfather! They will think we lied! He tells us everything!”

 

“Not everything, it seems,” Sif snapped.

 

Fandral stopped before the fire and gazed into it in thought, whereas Hogun sat upon one long sofa in complete silence, a gift for which Sif envied him. They needed to follow his example. If they could just stop and think about the best course of action, if they could simply sit and meditate instead of floundering and cursing, then perhaps they could decide upon something useful. They were of no help to Thor as they were.

 

The fire in the centre of their chambers had been kept aflame all night, which had caused great distress to the servants that had wished to retire instead of being retained needlessly for restless warriors, and even as the sun rose – warming the rooms – the fire continued to blaze. It lit the room in colours of gold, crimson and hints of orange, whilst above it the horned ornamental frame grew warm under its duty to extract the smoke, and the room itself had begun to feel stiflingly hot. The shutters had opened over an hour ago to allow inside natural light, but still the three sofas around the fire felt dark and oppressive. Hogun sat upon the left, Volstagg upon the right, and Sif herself in the middle. They each had their place.

 

Sif was grateful that the triangular positioning of the sofas led to an atmosphere conducive to conversation, but at the moment there was nothing that could be said that would fix their situation. They had thought about following Thor through the Bifrost, but that would only make them accessories to the crime and likely to fall under the Allfather’s wrath, which would have been an acceptable risk were it not for the fact that there was nothing to be done to help Thor or change what he had done.

 

“Well, I suppose we ought to bring him back,” Volstagg said.

 

“Do you think that wise?” Fandral asked.

 

“Of course! If the Allfather gets wind of this, he might be forced to annul the marriage, then where would we all be? Our queen would mourn the loss of her son, whereas Thor would be simply miserable, and – worst of all – we would have been forced to attend the ceremony all for nothing!” Volstagg laughed loudly and shook his head. “Although, I shall say this: the food was magnificent!”

 

“You and your stomach! This is not the time to be thinking with your appetite! The food at the first wedding will be just as tasty as the second or the third or the fourth! The question is whether you would allow the first to be annulled in order _to find out_ , because even a fool could tell that an annulment would be an unwise option!”

 

“Here I thought you _wanted_ an annulment,” Sif said scathingly.

 

Sif folded her arms and sent Fandral a dark stare. It wasn’t that she harboured ill feelings towards her comrade, but simply that she disliked the manner in which he could change his tune so quickly. It was understandable, for before there had been no real threat to the _status quo_ and so jesting about the situation was to be expected, but now there was a real threat to all and so it was a time for seriousness. They could not mock or tease any longer, because they would lose everything if they did.

 

He gave her a rather curious look in return, one that caused her to give a half-smirk to show that she meant no maliciousness to her words, but instead her smile only served to make her look more dangerous. It seemed to give the impression that she was merely waiting for a reason to attack, rather than patiently awaiting a response from a good friend. He luckily knew her well, and so – as she sat with arms draped across the back of the sofa and legs crossed at the ankle – he sensed from her a non-confrontational need for answers, and he responded in kind. He ran a hand through over his beard and used his other hand to clench upon his sword hilt.

 

“I _wanted_ that our friend had never married to begin with,” Fandral replied. “He could have become king, married well, and had a brood to put even Volstagg’s to shame. The problem is that Thor is a _prince_. He has never had the same freedoms that we take for granted! He was forced into this union to appease his mother and delay an oncoming war, and now he is stuck with Loki until the day that one of them dies.”

 

“An annulment would solve that,” Hogun said.

 

“It would not be worth all that it would bring. Jotunheim is simply biding its time for an attack; if we throw one of their princes back into the dungeon, it will be just the excuse that they need! The Nine Realms are in disarray, we ca not afford to waste time and men on such a battle, and that is not to mention the fact that our queen would die of a broken heart. Two months – _just two months_ – into the marriage and Thor is visiting his mistress on Midgard! What is he thinking? If we retrieve him then all eyes will be upon him, the Allfather will know where Thor has gone and why, and he –”

 

“Do you honestly think that the Allfather does not already know of where his son has gone?” Sif asked. “Heimdall is sure to have told him. If we are lucky then Odin Allfather will merely forbid all usage of the Bifrost for Thor.”

 

“I just do not understand what Thor is thinking.”

 

Sif held her tongue and gazed into the fire.

 

The truth was that Thor had been something of a mystery to her since their return to Asgard almost two years ago, where every moment not spent in battle seemed to be a moment when he would be lost in grief over Jane Foster. It had been almost heart-breaking to see a man usually so filled with energy reduced to a mournful shell, where even in the midst of a party or feast he seemed to hold in great pain, and for a while she had wondered if anything would bring him back to them.

 

She would not lie, for – like Odin – she had wished that perhaps he would turn his attentions to her, but he was her friend first and foremost, so as long as he found happiness then she would not begrudge him for where that happiness was found. Jane had changed him considerably. It was those changes that gave him the maturity to listen to his mother when she had suggested a political union to save Loki, the strength to consider such an option and visit Loki as he pondered upon it, and even the wisdom to enjoy the wedding for what it was instead of focussing on what it could have been. It was what gave her hope that – perhaps – Thor knew what he was doing.

 

“Thor must know the risk that he takes visiting Jane Foster,” Sif said carefully. “We must trust in him that he does so out of necessity, that he does not seek to jeopardise the fragile peace of our realm.”

 

“I hate to say it,” Fandral asked in turn, “but what of Loki?”

 

“What of him?”

 

“He has become somewhat _bearable_ as of late, but he makes no attempt to hide his displeasure or his contempt. Still, he seeks to end the marriage _only_ once his freedom is secured. I cannot see him permitting any kind of action that would threaten what little freedom he currently has; after all, he wants to return to the dungeons just as much as we want him in our company. You have to wonder why he has allowed this.”

 

“Ha, you do amuse me, Fandral!” Volstagg laughed and slapped his thigh. “Do you think that Loki has any say in Thor’s life whatsoever? He would have to beg to get Thor’s attention, but even then Thor would not bow to his whim without reason!”

 

“Then perhaps we could ask Jane to turn Thor away?”

 

It seemed as if Fandral actually considered this to be an idea. He took long and confident strides to the sofa upon which Hogun sat, and then sat down gracefully beside him. The flames of the fire and rising sun cast strange shadows on his face, which only served to make him appear older and wiser than he actually was, and as he gazed off into the fire he pursed his lips in thought. He moved his head almost imperceptibly to unheard words and an unseen sight.

 

Sif turned her gaze to Hogun, but it seemed that he was determined not to give away one single hint as to his feelings, which irritated Sif more than she dare say. He was often the one with the soundest ideas and best solutions, but at that moment his silence seemed to say what all of their words could not: there was no easy solution to their problem. Thor and Loki could not be separated before Loki had proven both his trustworthiness and his loyalty to their king, but – whilst Thor’s actions put their bond at risk – they could do nothing to stop their prince’s actions. Thor was the only one who could stop his visits and save his marriage.

 

She looked to Volstagg, as if in the desperate hope that he would be able to provide something new to the conversation, but he had set his mind upon retrieving Thor, which was something that they could not do without forcing all eyes upon their prince. She instead tried to focus upon Fandral’s question. It was a difficult one to answer, for she could see the sincerity and curiosity written across his features. There could be no way to answer him without giving some offence, but it was unavoidable.

 

“And say what?” Sif snapped. “Thor says that she is sick, as such he will visit her regardless of what anyone says. He may have ended his romance with her when he began his betrothal to Loki, but he is still her friend, as such he will not abandon her. She could curse his very name and he would not turn his back on her!”

 

“Then what would you have us do?”

 

“We must wait,” she continued. “If we are lucky then Thor shall return to us without incident. We will discuss with him what consequences his actions have, and perhaps we can prevent him from continuing in this manner . . . he will listen to his friends.”

 

“You do not know that –”

 

Fandral stopped and stood quickly.

 

He did not finish his sentence, but the way that he refused to speak indicated that he had good reason not to risk continuation, because to finish would be to say something that he would regret. He stood as one would to mark respect to a social superior, but he also angled his body towards the door in such a way as to suggest an intruder had interrupted their domain, and his hand tightened upon his hilt with great force.

 

Sif stood and turned to look in the direction he faced. She noticed the way that Hogun half-stood from the corner of her right eye, whereas Volstagg merely leaned forward in her left, and as she gazed straight on – hands clenched at her sides – she saw that someone had indeed entered their room. She had not expected to see Loki without his new husband. The younger prince made it clear that he found it unpleasant to be around the Warriors Three, and for the past two months since his marriage he had only ever left his rooms to visit his mother or to walk the palace grounds with Thor. It was suspicious that he would visit Sif and the Warriors Three of his own accord, especially in Thor’s absence. She felt ill at ease.

 

He stood looking somewhat smaller than she remembered, almost as if he sought to make himself disappear, and on either side of him – beside the doorway – stood a guard to chaperone him and prevent him from mischief. His hair had grown and was now slicked back and smoothed down, and his expression seemed mournful compared to his usual smirk of confidence. Sif would have worried had she been closer to him. He had dressed in his usual attire; leather trousers, leather tunic accentuated with gold, and an ankle-length coat lined in green. The question was why he was there.

 

They watched Loki darkly with great interest. It was true that his presence had been somewhat bearable as of late, but they had only so far to tolerate his presence in the company of Thor, who insisted upon ‘quality time’ with both his husband and his friends, and without Thor they had no idea what to expect. She found it hard to believe that Loki would hold his tongue without his husband present, not that Thor’s presence had done much to ease the disdain in the other man’s expression.

 

“I’m not interrupting something, am I?”

 

Sif felt her hand edge to her sword as Loki spoke. It was difficult not to raise her sword to him, but she had to remind herself that the guards would soon arrest her if she did, not to mention that Thor would be outraged were his friends or husband to harm each other in any way. Loki had not been particularly rude as of late, but that did not mean that she appreciated his intrusion at such an inopportune time. It was difficult to tell just how much Loki knew, but – even though it did directly concern him – she did not wish for his participation in the conversation.

 

“Not at all, Loki,” Volstagg exclaimed. “We were merely talking.”

 

“Is that so?” Loki asked. “Then you will not mind if I stay for a while, surely?”

 

“You have every right to be here as the Prince Consort.”

 

Loki looked to the others as if for confirmation. The only response he seemed to receive was an absolute silence, with Volstagg’s words lingering in the air as a reluctant allowance more than a polite invitation. Sif turned her gaze around to the fire and sat down, reluctant to turn her back upon their new guest and yet unable to stand for much longer, meanwhile her friends sat down and kept their gaze stern and cold upon Loki as he walked forward.

 

Loki slowly walked forward. He kept his head low and looked from the corner of his eyes at the others, almost as if he felt unable to lower his guard around those he felt a threat to him, and when he sat he did so beside Volstagg, the one of them most forgiving and most understanding. He did not lean back, nor did he relax his stance, instead he sat upon the edge of the seat with his legs parted slightly, and his hands steepled in his lap. No one spoke. Sif was aware that neither parties knew what to say to one another, but she was also aware that someone would need to break the silence in order to proceed. To her surprise it was Hogun who spoke.

 

“I knew that you could not be trusted.”

 

“You’re still harping on about _that_?” Loki said in an eerily calm voice. “I _love_ Thor dearly, but we all know that he was not ready to become king. He led us into a battle that _I_ tried to prevent by confessing to the guard, by trying to stall Heimdall . . . did you even stop to think what would have happened if I had not? Fandral would be dead right now. We all may have died that day.”

 

“You were always jealous of Thor,” Sif interrupted. “You may have started with good intentions, but your actions were treasonous. You allowed intruders into our realm, you set the Destroyer onto your brother, and then you chose to risk death on the off-chance that your knowledge of hidden realms may save you.”

 

“You forget the war he started in Midgard,” Hogun said.

 

“I was getting to that.”

 

Sif let out a heavy breath.

 

She had not been aware of how tense she had been until that moment. There had been a great relief in finally being able to speak her words freely to Loki, for the others to have that chance to do the same, because since his incarceration they had no chance to confront him or to even hear his defence. No one had visited him aside from Frigga whilst he was imprisoned, then since his release he had hid himself away and had only recently begun to ‘socialise’ at the request of his husband.

 

They had seen Loki many times during this past month, but he had been quiet and merely watched them as they ate together or trained together, saving his words for his mother or his husband in the privacy of the royal rooms. Sif had spoken to Loki occasionally upon trivial matters, but any serious talk – talk of Thor’s banishment or of the attack upon Midgard – had been silenced before it had a chance to begin. Thor had stood in the way of such discussions. He was determined that Loki was not to be upset by sensitive subjects, but nor was Loki to insult his friends with his quips or comebacks, and as such neither party had yet the chance to resolve their issues.

 

“You treated us worse than we would treat our enemies,” Sif stated coldly. “I have acted towards you with respect due to your marriage to our prince, but I cannot accept you into our fold as a friend in his absence.”

 

“I would expect nothing less,” Loki replied. “Thor seems to live under the delusion that you were _our_ friends, but we all know that was never the case. You tolerated my presence. You were always Thor’s friends first and foremost, whereas I was always the one that was forced to tag along, and youwould have been happier had I stayed within the palace and not once troubled you or your group.”

 

“I did not trust you, Loki, but it seems that I was right not to trust you. It will take time for you to regain what little trust you once had, for us to welcome you as fully as we once did, and perhaps in time we can come to call you friend also, but until then I have nothing more to say to you. Why are you here?”

 

“I thought that my husband might be with you.”

 

Loki cast a look into the flames. It seemed that he was eying the healing stones for a moment, almost as if he remembered the last time he sat in these rooms and saw those stones in use, and the way that – even then – he had stood on the boundaries as an outsider. Sif could not find it within herself to feel sorry for him. It was difficult to pity one whose pain was entirely self-inflicted, who seemed to relish in misery the way that many would savour a good battle.

 

He had never opened up about his feelings; he would always choose to play pranks or cause mayhem to hide his pain, and as such he had alienated all of those that were not directly related to him. She hoped that he had learned from his mistakes, and that perhaps he would make amends and grow closer to the people whose company he craved. He had seemingly befriended Thor well in these past two months, but that had not lessened his acidic tongue or prevented him from making cruel comments. There were those that said Loki sought to push his loved ones away to prevent rejection, but Sif saw someone who sought to punish others via a childish tantrum.

 

Still, she could not deny the faraway look in his eyes, or the way that he seemed oddly disjointed from the reality around him, and he appeared to cling to something within himself – a hope, a belief, perhaps a dream – that stood as the only grip he had upon his sanity. She wondered if it were his chance at redemption that he saw, that he wished for so strongly that he would finally play nice and strive to befriend his husband once more, and perhaps with Thor gone he saw that chance slipping him by . . . perhaps he saw what he stood to lose.

 

“I grew bored in my rooms,” Loki said carefully. “I thought that I would converse for a while with my husband, but – _alas_ – it seems that he is missing once more. He tells you all that happens to him. I want to know whyhe feels compelled to leave so.”

 

“I _told_ you that we would get the blame,” Fandral muttered.

 

“We have done nothing wrong,” Volstagg interrupted. “Loki is not trying to blame us, are you, Loki? He merely misses his husband and wants answers. I don’t think we can fault him for that, after all if I were in his shoes then we would be the first people I would come to for answers. It is just unfortunate that we know as little as Loki does.”

 

“I know full well that he has been visiting his mistress down in Midgard,” Loki said all too coldly. “He and Mother claim it to be platonic, but if that were the case then he would not need to see her so often! I have held my tongue and acted like a dutiful spouse, but still he acts as if he were not married at all! I wantto know is why it is that he still visits her when he knows what it is he risks!”

 

“Perhaps _you_ are the reason he leaves,” Hogun said coldly.

 

Loki gave an almost imperceptible wince. He leaned back upon the seat and folded his arms across his chest, and as Sif looked to him – the morning sun now bright and breaking over the horizon – she saw something dark in his expression beyond just jealousy. It was a hard look to decipher, but she saw in his eyes a sense of self-pity. The look was there only for a moment, because in an instant he had hardened his gaze and turned up his lip into a sneer, at which point the Loki she was familiar with returned to them. He shook his head and gave a smile that made her sympathy shrink.

 

“The thought _did_ occur to me, yes,” Loki replied. “There are many issues that Thor and I have yet to resolve, but I would like to think that my husband has enough sense to separate his private life from his princely duties. We are on the verge of _war_ with Jotunheim! I would gladly make amends with Thor, if it would prevent him from turning to a _mortal_ for things he could easily get from Asgard! I do not see the appeal of one so weak that she would die before a life could be made.”

 

“My,” Fandral exclaimed, “you almost sound jealous!”

 

“I will not deny that I still hold a great affection for Thor, but I do not act out of jealousy, no matter what it is that you may think of me. Surely, you are aware of what may happen if it is discovered that he is engaging in an affair? I was once told that a wise ruler is ready for war, yet never seeks it, but what of a prince that _enables_ war by giving into his selfish desires for romance?”

 

“We were actually discussing just that,” Fandral continued, “although not quite in those exact words. Volstagg was arguing the benefits of going to Earth to retrieve Thor, but Lady Sif and I thought it best to wait for Thor to return to us. I wonder what you would suggest, Loki? You are a prince, after all.”

 

“Here I thought that _I_ was the one for sarcasm.”

 

Loki merely stared into the flames. There came a great silence, as the occupants of the room appeared to consider what was happening between them, not least because any misspoken word from either party could lead to great conflict. They could not speak cruelly to the husband of their prince without being accused of treason, but nor could Loki speak out of turn to them without proving he could not be trusted and sacrificing the freedoms that he had earned.

 

They sat in an almost companionable silence for a long moment. They all wanted what was best for Thor and for their realm; the only difference between them came from the expression of their feelings. Loki sat with a dark scowl and an intense look of worry, whereas Fandral climbed to his feet again and began to pace back and forth. Sif felt the urge to burst into action quite strongly. She was sure that if she acted out of turn then Fandral or one of the others would hold her back, but she felt so helpless sitting in a room whilst Thor was out of their reach and in need of their words, and a part of her could not help but admire Hogun and Loki for their ability to hide their feelings and rely on talents beyond just action and physical strength.

 

“I suppose we will have to wait for Thor’s return,” Loki admitted gravely.

 

“I will talk to him,” Sif said. “It may be that we are mistaken, that there is more to the situation than meets the eye, and with that being the case Thor has risked nothing.”

 

“Your faith in Thor is so inspiring.”

 

_‘Prince Loki?’_

Loki stood far quicker than any of them. It seemed that he was already upon his feet before Sif had even noticed the guard’s presence, and he moved midway into the room with a swiftness that many a warrior would envy. Fandral followed not too far behind, with Volstagg also on his feet and pushing forward to hear what the guard had to say, whilst Hogun and Sif simply stood where they had sat and waited patiently.

 

“What is it?”

 

“Prince Thor has returned.”

 

It seemed as if a collective sigh of relief was released. She could see the way that Loki’s shoulders sagged and the lines of worry eased about his face, and the laughter from Volstagg echoed about the room so loudly that she felt as if the very room itself might reverberate with his laughter. Sif looked to Hogun, for even as Fandral smirked and scoffed she sensed something more, there was something left for the guard to say that had so far gone unsaid, and it seemed her stoic friend sensed this as well. He held her gaze and gave her a subtle nod. There was more to be said.

 

“He is not alone,” the guard reported. “Jane Foster is with him.”

 

Sif closed her eyes and raised her head to the ceiling. The room felt thick with an oppressive feeling of dread, whilst a cold sweat broke over her skin and sent a dark shiver down her spine. It seemed that her faith in Thor had been misplaced, because against all reason – against the very laws of their king – he had brought a mere mortal into their realm, a mortal that stood to destroy his union and potentially begin a war.

 

She opened her eyes and looked about the room. Fandral seemed to lose his graceful posture and ran a hand across his features, Volstagg took a large step back with a look of horror, and Hogun seemed as emotionless as he had always been. It seemed that they shared in her sense of horror, for they knew what this signalled to come, and that was at the very least the restriction of the Bifrost’s use for Thor and his companions, and at the worst the annulment of a marriage that kept Loki free and stabilised the two realms. She could only hope that the Allfather had not heard of this, so that they could perhaps return Jane before he learned of the truth.

 

Loki appeared almost beaten by what he had heard. He shook his head and cast his gaze low, but when he looked back up he seemed to wear a smile that was nothing but a broken mask. It was difficult to tell what he hid . . . fury, sorrow, regret, perhaps even a sense of betrayal . . . all that she could tell was that his hands clenched into dark fists and soon his smile was erased altogether, to be replaced with a rather stoic expression and a livid gaze. He did not wait to hear more. He immediately began to storm out of the rooms and waited for no one.

 

“That fool,” Sif whispered.

 

She felt a dark fear for how Loki would react to such news, as she knew that his jealousy had been severe even when they had been nothing more than brothers, but now – that he held the title of ‘husband’ – he would likely find his feelings of jealousy and inadequacy heightened. That was to say nothing of Thor who threatened everything with his romance. She shook her head and followed fast behind Loki, determined to confront her friend and prince. Thor’s mind remained a mystery.

 

“That royal fool!”


	9. Chapter 9

# Chapter Nine

****

“Ah, so _this_ is the glorious Jane Foster.”

 

Loki paused where he stood. He took the opportunity to observe her carefully, because if this were the woman worth sacrificing a marriage for – worth risking war itself – then she was certainly of some import. It was true that he had expected someone more substantial, perhaps someone more akin to Thor’s usual type, but that only made her more special. She had somehow ascended the rank of ‘conquest’ and attained some meaning, despite appearing so plain.

 

He clenched his fists and tried to keep his smile from faltering, despite the way that his eyes narrowed and his heart raced, and as he continued to look upon her his ability to remain calm wavered. It seemed that she – _a mere mortal_ – was worthy of Thor’s love and attention, whereas Loki had been forced to the sidelines and treated as if _he_ were the mistress and not the spouse. That Thor would then take such a woman, and _parade_ her before him, was an offence unlike any other. It seemed that it was not enough to replace Loki, but that Thor also found it necessary to boast about his mistress in this ridiculous display. It was cruel, indeed.

 

She stood with a face soft and round, almost as if she were innocent in what appeared to be an obvious affair, and with dark eyes that were filled with awe. It seemed as if every sight was a cause for wonder. Their realm inspired in her dozens of feelings and caused her to look about with a distracted façade. Loki wondered if that contributed to her appeal. She was not like the women of Asgard; she looked with an innocent eye at their world and dressed casually with hair dark indeed. She was exotic.

 

“It is a pleasure to meet you,” he said coldly.

 

He took a few steps down the long stretch of covered walkway and tried to keep his stride steady, but it seemed that all eyes were upon him as he walked. Thor glared at Loki with an almost bitter expression in his blue eyes, one tinged with disbelief and trepidation, whereas the woman herself merely knitted her eyebrows in a way that made her appear both confused and sceptical of the man that advanced towards her.

 

“Allow me to introduce myself. I am Prince Loki –”

 

The slap that struck him prevented him from continuing. It was certainly unexpected, because he had not expected a mere mortal to stand her ground against what she considered to be a god, let alone one of royalty and great status. The strike itself had not hurt him or bruised him, nor had it insulted him, but it had come as a surprise and thus knocked his head to one side under the unexpected force from the blow.

 

He gave a sincere smile and looked to her darkly. There was something oddly disconcerting about being struck by a mortal woman that should have known her place, but at the same time he had to admire her strength and courage. No one else had so much as raised a hand to him, aside from Lady Sif and the Warriors Three, and even their actions consisted of nothing more than verbal threats and a slight halt with a hand or lifting of a weapon, and for this woman – a mortal – to dare do what no Asgardian would was quite a feat. He thought that he could see what Thor saw in her.

 

“I know who you are. That was for New York!”

 

“I like her,” Loki said sincerely. “It is a shame that she can not stay.”

 

“Now is not the time, Loki,” Thor snapped. “I will discuss this with you later, but for now I need to take Jane to a healer. I ask that you step aside, or must I ask the guards to escort you back to our rooms?”

 

Loki drew in a breath and looked to Jane again. It was clear that she was flustered by seeing the man that had destroyed so many of her people, with her cheeks red and her hands shaking in fury, but it seemed that she was otherwise at the peak of health. Loki wondered if Thor had merely obsessed over a slight flaw or injury, although why such attention had not been paid to Loki’s injuries was a mystery. It seemed a few days spent with this woman meant more than a millennium spent with Loki.

 

He wondered how he could get Thor’s attention, when behind him came heavy footsteps at a fast pace, and it was clear then that someone had decided to follow Loki. He turned to see Lady Sif, dressed in her previous spotless attire, heading towards them at a speed as fast as she could dare without seeming to be responding to a state of emergency or worrying the guards. She came to a stop beside Thor. The look that she gave to Jane was hard to decipher, but the way her eyes widened and her hand twitched at her hilt indicated that she was displeased by this series of events.

 

“I had thought that the guard had been mistaken,” Sif said breathlessly.

 

“I am sorry, my friend,” Thor replied firmly, “I did not mean to hide Jane’s presence from you, but nor did I wish for you to find out in this way. We do not have much time before my father learns of this, we must leave for the healers at once.”

 

“Thor, I cannot let you do that. Do you have any idea what you risk by bringing Jane Foster to our realm? Do you care not about the Allfather’s wrath?”

 

“I think it obvious that Thor cares for no one but his woman,” Loki snapped.

 

“Loki, _now is not the time_!”

 

Thor spun to his right and pointed his finger at Loki. The fury in his expression caught Loki off-guard and caused him to jerk his head backwards, because such a look of sheer anger the younger man had rarely seen, least of all for it to be directed at him in such a threatening way. It was usually a look reserved for the most intense of situations, one in which Loki had often calmed in the past with carefully chosen words, but it was never one meant for the younger man himself.

 

“Thor, you must calm yourself,” Sif said firmly.

 

“I will not stand for any more insults, not when things are as serious as they are! I must take Jane to a healer, once they have done what needs to be done then I will return her to Midgard, but until she has been seen to then I can give my attention to nothing else! You do not realise the importance of this!”

 

“What of the healing stones? You could have taken the stones to Jane, rather than bring her to the stones! They should heal any illness that is beyond the technology of her people. There is no need for her to be here.”

 

“Wait? Healing stones?” Jane asked curiously. “Really?”

 

Loki rolled his eyes. He saw Jane look from face to face, whilst her eyes lit up like a small child that had received a great gift. It would have been endearing, or at least he could see why Thor would find it so, because it must have been refreshing to find someone who expressed such a sense of wonder, but Loki knew that same quality would be grating after some time. There were only so many times one could endure a questioning nature before such questions began to feel tedious.

 

“Yes, but sadly they do not heal ignorance,” Loki said coldly, “else Thor would have his own permanent supply. Forgive me, but you seem ratherhealthy for someone so in _desperate_ need of a healer, or do your people define ‘illness’ in different terms?”

 

“Loki, you are not one to talk of ignorance,” Thor snapped. “Do you forget your actions? I will not have you slander the people that I have sworn to protect, not least when your actions were the ones that brought them such misery! I love you dearly and I swear that I will tell you everything, but you must leave things be and let us pass.”

 

“You would waste Eir’s time with a perfectly healthy woman?”

 

“I shall explain later, Loki, when I know more.”

 

There could be no doubt that Loki lived with great restrictions on his freedom, that he was essentially under house-arrest, but he had assumed that his title would afford him _some_ rights. He had believed that Thor – as foolish and simple as he could be – was a man of his word. Thor had not only broken his vows, but he now refused the simple courtesy of an explanation. Loki hated the humiliation that he felt. He stood in the shadow of a mere mortal. He may have been a criminal, even a Jotun, but he was worth more than this woman, and if Thor would sacrifice their relationship – even Loki’s freedom – then it was clear that he was not worth as much as he had assumed.

 

Sif stepped forward. The look upon her face was almost pleading, and yet Loki sensed a tinge of sorrow to her expression that made him think that she perhaps felt as slighted as he had. Sif was too proud to beg or fight for the affections of a man, but she perhaps also wondered how a woman like this could win against her in a battle for Thor’s heart. She kept her calm admirably and spoke respectfully.

 

“It pains me to say this,” Sif said sadly, “but Loki is right. You have risked both your marriage and the stability of your realm by bringing Jane Foster here, but it seems that you have done so needlessly. What need has this woman of our healers?”

 

“I have told you all that I can,” Thor replied. “Jane thought herself ill, and so I spent time by her side to help ease her in her time of worry, but that time I spent with her was chaperoned and was not spent inappropriately. If it would put minds to rest then I would have taken Loki or yourself with me, but Loki’s travel is forbidden and I did not wish to risk you being implemented in such a scandal.”

 

“So you are aware this is a scandal?”

 

“I would be a fool not to think that the worst would be assumed! I am a married man visiting alone what was once counted as his mistress, but I am a man of honour and could not leave Jane alone, even when she gave me leave. It was only recently that her fears were confirmed. It is for that we seek the healers help.”

 

“This is your woman in a fit of ill health?” Loki asked. “I am rather envious. I could only wish that everyone could look so well upon the verge of death. Your father could do well with knowing her secrets.”

 

“You have misunderstood my words,” Thor replied.

 

Thor raised his hands as if in surrender, but likely to try and placate both Loki and Sif’s concerns. It was a difficult situation for Thor, with his blue eyes barely concealing emotions of anger and fear, but it was also difficult for Loki to observe his husband or acknowledge his pain, because by his side was _Jane_. She remained silent for the most part, perhaps due to being in an unfamiliar environment, but there she stood as a reminder of her status as favourite to Thor. It was like salt into a wound.

 

“I brought her here to assess her situation,” Thor continued, “for what we need most is information. I am sorry if you mistook what I said – if you believed her situation to be terminal – for it was not my intention to mislead. Jane’s situation is severe, as such I must take her to a healer to discover what may be done and what can be expected.”

 

“The Allfather will not agree to this,” Sif answered. “He will see this as a waste of our resources and our healers time. He will also question your commitment to the marriage if you are seen consorting with past lovers.”

 

“Whoa,” Jane interrupted, “there is _nothing_ going on between Thor and me!”

 

“That is not how it seems to outside eyes.”

 

Jane appeared flustered. She opened and closed her mouth as if imitating a fish out of water, but eventually she took to shaking her head with a blush. Loki turned a steely gaze upon her. It was quite enjoyable to see her so embarrassed, because it was the least that she deserved for consorting with a married man, but at the same time there was a dark hint to her brown eyes that indicated frustration. She seemed offended by the insinuation that she had engaged in an affair.

 

She brushed a lock of brown hair behind her ear, before she stepped back and cast a curious gaze upon the others. She seemed out of place with her attire from Midgard, with denim trousers and checkered shirt, and in a way those clothes only seemed to hide her femininity, but they were also clothes impractical for warfare or battle. Loki wondered if this were part of her appeal, the ability to avoid a narrowly defined role, the ability to appear however Thor wished. She stood confident, which was admirable for one who was so vulnerable in a strange realm, and Loki admired her for that strength, even when she spoke it was with surety and confidence.

 

“Well, forgive me,” Jane said, “but the _last_ thing on my mind right now is what anyone thinks of me. You have no right to judge me anyway, because – no offence to Thor, but – if he’s Asgard’s idea of ‘chivalrous’ then it leaves a lot to be desired.”

 

“I really do like her,” Loki said with a smile.

 

“You know, I spent _a year_ waiting for Thor to return after he _promised_ that he wouldn’t forget me, then found out he was in New York where he could find time to eat _shawarma_ according to S.H.I.E.L.D, but couldn’t find time to even _call_! Okay, I get that there were wars and the Bifrost was broken, so it’s not as though his excuses were _terrible_ , but when he _does_ finally show it’s to tell me that he’s _engaged_! So if you even _think_ that I would jump back into bed –”

 

“So you haven’t been intimate with our royal prince?” Loki asked.

 

“Just _how_ is that any business of yours?”

 

Jane turned and to round on Loki. The light from the side of the walkway streamed inside to brighten her features, whilst small shadows cast themselves on the stone underfoot where the blossoming branches outside filtered the light that came through, and the effect was somewhat stunning. She may have been small and slight, but she was beautiful and seemed to hold a fire inside her that made her passionate and strong. Loki would have admired her, but he could not help but resent her.

 

“I would think,” Loki snapped, “given the circumstances, that it involves me greatly. I would also add, _Thor_ , that it is interesting how you would choose to parade your mistress about the palace so freely, when you seem so ashamed of your spouse. Tell me, isn’t it a little soon to be announcing a replacement before the shackles have been placed and a new cell prepared?”

 

“Loki, I do not treat this marriage lightly, but there are only so many times that I can say this without feeling frustration at having to repeat myself. The more you remind me of duties, the more you serve to push me away. You have nothing to fear. I will not break my vows.”

 

“So you married to help your brother?” Jane asked, albeit with a confused tone. “Is that – is that why he’s free? He _killed_ more people than I can count! Is this what passes as justice in your realm?”

 

“Thor didn’t tell you about the terms of the marriage?” Loki asked.

 

“He told me everything.”

 

The confusion on her face said otherwise. It was clear that Thor had hid from her just as much as he had hid from the others, but that only served to further fuel suspicions in Loki’s mind. In a way it gave him relief, because at the very least it seemed that he did not trust this woman any more than he did Loki, but a part of him could not help but wonder if there wasn’t an element of shame involved. It seemed as if Thor was too ashamed of the marriage to tell Jane all.

 

She sent a look to Thor the exact moment that Loki did, so that Thor felt the full gaze of both in a single instant. He squirmed under such intense attention, as he looked from one to the other in search of an answer, and eventually he looked to Sif for some support, but whatever he saw in her expression seemed to provide no solace. Thor drew in a deep breath and raised his hand as if to plead with Loki, before he placed it around the other’s neck in a brief and yet gentle embrace, and then as his hand fell he looked to Jane with an expression of regret that seemed almost misplaced.

 

It was difficult to tell what Jane made of such a gesture, but when Thor turned to her it was then she turned to face Sif. She raised a pale hand to push back her hair and lowered her head almost sheepishly, whilst the smile on her lips was weak enough to convey her embarrassment in ways that her body language could not, and when she spoke her voice was soft and almost broken. She seemed ashamed. She seemed to be speaking as if searching for absolution.

 

“I am really, _really_ sorry,” Jane said to Sif. “I’m guessing that Thor hasn’t told you everything, and I’m certain that I’m missing some key facts too, but I _promise_ that we were only ever together just one time and that was _before_ you were married.”

 

“I’m sorry?”

 

“Thor has been nothing but a gentleman,” Jane continued. “He told me explicitly that nothing could happen between us, that it would be wrong of him to break his vows, and I believe him. He wouldn’t betray you that way. I mean, even if he would cheat on you, I’m not that type of woman! My ex was kind of a jerk, so I know what it’s like to go through that. Trust me, there is _nothing_ between us anymore.”

 

“I believe you may be mistaken,” Sif said awkwardly, “I am _not_ Thor’s wife.”

 

“You’re not -? Then who did Thor marry?”

 

Sif merely looked outside, in what was an apparent attempt to avoid implicating herself in the drama to come, whereas Thor lowered his head to avoid looking at those around him. The moment stretched on for too long, so that Loki was forced to break it with a clearing of his throat. It was difficult to rein in his emotions at the revelation that Thor had hidden so much; it was a grave insult and spoke of a deep distrust. Loki narrowed his eyes and knew that the anger inside him would soon come out. Jane appeared confused and looked to Loki for answers.

 

“That would be _me_ ,” Loki spat. “I am Thor’s husband.”

 

“You’re kidding?”

 

Jane spun to face Thor. The look of fury and disgust was more than evident, but so too was the absolute shock that had overtaken her. Her face paled considerably, whereas her hands were raised high as if caught between striking Thor and strangling the air itself, and there was a tension in the air that felt thick and unyielding. The guards watched intently from a distance, because although a strike against an Asgardian could go overlooked, a strike to the heir to the throne could not.

 

“You married your _brother_?”

 

“Jane, I –”

 

_‘I see that all is not quite well.’_

Loki turned upon hearing Frigga’s voice.

 

She appeared regally at the end of the long walkway, but her expression was far more sombre than he had expected. Her hands were clasped to her front, one hand holding the other as if she were witness to some grand event, and her stance and posture were perfect, so much so that she managed to make even a heated quarrel appear refined. Loki could not help but admire her self-control and ability to remain calm, but the disappointment in her eyes was almost too much for him to bear. He had failed her.

 

“Come,” she said softly, “we will talk in private.”

 

Loki looked to the others with an uncertain gaze. There was a look of shame that seemed shared between Thor and Sif, as if they were embarrassed to be caught in the midst of an argument in a main walkway within the palace grounds, but the look upon Jane’s face was one merely of confused wonder. Loki wondered if it were the queen’s rich attire – an elegant blue with accessories to match – that caused her such a look of awe, or if whether it were Frigga’s impeccable demeanour.

 

He looked to Sif and gave her a nod, and then began to follow his mother out of the walkway and into one of the side-rooms. This was an area of the palace that he rarely walked; it was used only for patrolling guards and as a shortcut during states of emergencies, but he remembered well the tall columns and the decorated doors that lined the wall. He had vague memories of hiding behind those columns and watching the blossoms fall, whilst he would practise simple spells and try to hide from his mother, and eventually he would be found and she would smile warmly, only to correct his use of illusion spells and to hide herself in turn. He missed those days.

 

Sif followed him quickly after, then so too did Thor and Jane, and from behind him he could hear whispered words of assurance to the young mortal. It pained him, because he was well aware that he could soon be the one to be cast back into the dungeons, his role as prince stolen by one that could potentially become princess, and yet it was her who was comforted and Loki who was left to walk alone. Thor told him that he was loved, but then walked beside Jane. It left him feeling alienated.

 

He entered the side-room at once. Frigga sat beside the fire.

 

The room was quite dark without windows or natural light, but the fire gave fresh life to the small space and made it come alive in the darkness, and as Frigga sat beside the fire the flames seemed to give her a radiant glow. Loki took a seat beside the oval table centre of the room, unable to bring himself to sit opposite his mother lest he see pity in her features, and instead he took to admiring the large feature of the fire. Sif took her seat at the far end of the table, whereas Thor and Jane sat opposite Loki.

 

“This is a safe place,” Frigga said gently. “If you have something to say to one another, I would have you say it here. There is no one here that may overhear your words, no one that may see Jane Foster further to report her, you are safe here.”

 

“Mother,” Thor said, “I am sorry that you had to overhear our discussion, but you must excuse us! I am certain that word has reached Father that I have brought Jane to our realm, as such there is a limited amount of time before he will come to insist that she be sent back, and it is vital that I take her to a healer. Will you not excuse me?”

 

“So this is the Jane Foster I have heard so much about?”

 

Frigga turned in her seat to look across to Jane, at which point her eyes appeared to light up and a beautiful smile graced her lips. It was hard for Loki not to look away, because it seemed that it was not enough for Jane to steal the affections of his husband, but that now she was the favourite of his mother. He looked up to see his mother reach out a hand in Jane’s direction, not to take a hold of her – as she was so far away – but to merely gesture to their guest that she was welcomed and accepted. She then lowered her hand and spoke directly to Thor.

 

“She is as beautiful as I imagined.”

 

“You told your mother about me,” Jane whispered with a smile.

 

“Indeed, he did. I must say that if things had gone differently, were my children to marry for love rather than politics, then I would have been honoured to have you as a daughter-in-law, but unfortunately circumstances do not allow for that union. You know now that Loki has married Thor and they have been sworn to each other?”

 

“I – well, I . . .”

 

Jane looked to Frigga with a pained expression, but the look of patience that their queen wore seemed to put her mind to rest. It was an aura that no other could replicate, an ability to put at ease even the most agitated of souls, and she seemed to speak of safety. Loki had never been able to warm another with a look in the way that his mother could, but it was a trait that Thor possessed in moments of maturity. If Thor hadn’t panicked and argued, he could have calmed Jane in that same way.

 

“He told me he was engaged,” Jane said in a sad voice. “He said that he loved his fiancée, even if it wasn’t the same way that he loved me, and that it was a marriage that would unite two realms. I just -! I didn’t think he meant a _brotherly_ love! I know I don’t belong here, but don’t you see anything wrong with marrying two brothers?”

 

“We are not brothers anymore,” Loki replied coldly.

 

“You don’t just _stop_ being brothers . . . even if you marry them.”

 

“I believe that there is much to be explained,” Frigga said gently. “You see when my youngest son returned to our realm he was very much changed. He existed in a state of immense emotional pain and he had acted upon Midgard in a deplorable manner, and as such he could not be trusted and nor could his actions be allowed to go unpunished. There were those in our realm that wished strongly for his execution. It was something that could not be allowed for many reasons . . .

 

“I admit that I was selfish, but to see my son killed for his crimes would have destroyed me. I felt that I had failed Loki by my inability to notice the pain that lay within his heart, for if I had noticed sooner then I might have prevented his crimes from passing, and in return he may have remained with us as a son of Odin. Loki was allowed to live at my request. I think that it was the best option politically, for to kill one of royal blood would have sent a message to our people that we are not infallible and may be overthrown, and it would have also brought about war with Jotunheim.

 

“Loki was imprisoned and disowned. It means that he is no longer considered any relation to the royal family and he is no longer the son of Odin Borson, as such he holds no ties to Thor aside from childhood memories. He will always be my son, regardless of whose blood courses through him, but the truth is that he is related in feeling alone. There are no blood or legal ties to Thor, as such it cannot be considered immoral for them to wed. The only relation between them now is that of spouse.”

 

It would be difficult for Jane to understand.

 

Loki knew that those from Midgard were a sentimental race, and that to them the memories and bonds forged in childhood counted for more than blood or legal status, therefore Jane would not understand how such feelings could be cast aside. It was admittedly difficult for both Thor and Loki, with the occasional use of ‘brother’ still being used as a term of address, but they had accepted that their relationship to one another had changed. It was not wanted, but it was a simple fact.

 

He looked to Thor and saw that the other’s gaze was locked upon him, almost as if he sought to gauge his husband’s reactions to Frigga’s words, but from beside him Jane leaned in and vied for his attention. It was not done maliciously, but simply as this concept of marriage seemed alien to her and no sooner had she received one answer did a thousand more questions arise. Sif remained silent at the far end of the table, where she deferred to Frigga’s judgement to talk and explain as need be. Loki folded his arms and tried to appear as indifferent as he could under the circumstances.

 

“I just don’t understand,” Jane admitted to Thor. “Loki was in prison! What on Earth made you want to release him? Why did you have to _marry_ him? It couldn’t be solely to prevent a war, there had to be more to it than that.”

 

“Jane,” Thor said softly, “you must understand that it broke my mother’s heart to see her son imprisoned and without visitors, and I could not bear to see her mourn so. I pleaded with her not to send gifts or to visit Loki’s cell, but she loved him too much to entertain such a request, and I loved Loki too much to deny him the one link he had to the world outside. This decision was not an easy one for me to make.

 

“I spent time visiting Loki’s cells, I read all the books that I could in order to find an alternative solution, but this was the only way that my mother and I could find to safely release him from prison. There is a restriction upon his magic that means he cannot hide from Heimdall’s eye, nor can he perform large spells or many consecutive spells, and his movement is restricted. He can only enter certain areas of the palace, a guard must always escort him, and he is forbidden from leaving the palace grounds. This was not my first choice, but it was my only choice. There was no other way.”

 

“So you will just _stay_ married?”

 

“Do not worry, my child,” Frigga said kindly. “The marriage will be annulled once Loki has proven his worth and that he can be trusted. We have only asked that they treat each other with respect and find a means to make peace. I believe that love will one day come, but if it does not then they may at least part as friends and comrades.”

 

Jane collapsed back in her chair. The shock that she appeared to feel was to be expected, not least because she had lost the man that she had formed such a strong connection, and yet it was hard for Loki to feel sympathy. He could understand her wish for him to remain locked away, just as he understood why his mother and husband spoke as if he were not present, but it was difficult to sympathise with one who had garnered so much more sympathy than he held.

 

Loki had been brought into his realm – his home – in enchanted chains and with an array of guards, and even now he and Thor bickered about things that should have been beneath them to argue about, and yet this woman entered to virtual fanfare. She was a stranger to their realm and had no right to be in the palace grounds, but there she sat with his mother’s forgiving gaze and Thor’s attention, and Loki could not help but feel his hands clench and his heartbeat increase. Thor had not brought her here needlessly. She was not here to socialise. She was surely there to replace him.

 

“I know that I have kept much from you,” Thor said to her. “I apologise for that, but I did not wish to spoil our last moments together with the details of the marriage to come. I wished solely to enjoy what time we had and we had such limited time. I had only one week from the day that Loki agreed to the wedding itself.”

 

“Do not worry, Thor,” Loki said coldly, “now you have a lifetime together.”

 

“Loki, do not doubt my commitment to our union! I love you too much to abandon you, no matter how tempting a prospect you make it seem! You are not the only person in this marriage, but the more that you fight me the harder it is for us to find peace. I would not have visited Jane at all since our parting, but she fell ill and I was obliged to return by her side. I will always hold her close to my heart, but my visits were ones of duty and respect, not of love or lust!”

 

“You may have had reason to simplify the terms of your marriage to Jane Foster,” Sif interrupted, “but what reason have you to hide the details of her arrival from us? Do you not trust your friends? Do you have no respect for your marriage?”

 

“I did not wish to worry you until we had details . . .”

 

“Details of what?” Loki asked.

 

Thor fell silent. He leaned forward with his arms rested upon his knees, and he lowered his head so much that his braided hair fell about him to hide his face from view. The flames from the fire cast a shadow about half his frame, one that gave him a rather dangerous aura, and yet Frigga and Sif continued to sit as if their prince had not accepted such a sudden defeat. It was Jane who broke the silence.

 

“I’m pregnant.”

 

Loki found himself lost for breath. It was difficult to give the array of emotions a specific order, but it seemed that shock struck first. There was a heavy sensation in his chest, coupled with a strange feeling about his skin, so that it felt as if he had been slowly doused with icy water, and as the feeling spread he could not help but swallow hard and try to stave off any outward reactions. He tried to think as to what to do next.

 

It took a long moment for him to consider the obvious, and that was the fact that – now Thor had a potential heir – the marriage would have to be dissolved. It meant that Loki would be sent back to the dungeons, because without his status as Thor’s husband to protect him then he could not retain his freedom, and – even if Jane were never allowed to marry Thor or remain in Asgard – their child would still be Thor’s only offspring, meaning it would automatically gain rights as heir. Loki had grown attached to a life with some freedom and to give that up was too much to bear.

 

Sif was on her feet at once. She seemed to be in as much shock as Loki himself, but she kept her hands firmly by her sides and her stance confident, and not one word passed her lips as she stood. Frigga, however, seemed to be both in a state of shock and of awe, and within an instant of hearing the news she had gone to Jane’s side. She knelt beside Jane and reached with a gentle hand to stroke her stomach, whilst Jane merely blushed and tried to seem at ease. It was almost affectionate.

 

“You must be at least two months,” Frigga said in a hushed breath, “Thor would not have broken his vows and so this must have occurred before that date. I find it hard to believe that I will be a grandmother, but it is far from unpleasant news.”

 

“I’m eight weeks now,” Jane replied, “so there is still a while to go . . .”

 

“It will go by far quicker than you imagine. I felt nothing but an intense excitement during my pregnancies, where every week felt like time itself was standing still, because there was nothing more that I wanted than to meet my little one and welcome him into the world. The moment you hold this miracle, I promise you that the entire pregnancy will feel as if it were a fleeting moment.”

 

Loki looked to Sif, but she merely gave an incomprehensible look in return, as if to say that there was little to be done, and when he looked to Thor he saw a mournful look upon him. Thor’s blue eyes were clouded with concern, and it was obvious that his attention was upon his mistress’ stomach and not the mistress herself, and it was as if a hint of sadness darkened what should have been a happy event for Thor.

 

Loki stood tall and placed his hands down upon the tabletop; his fingertips touched the cool surface so as to show that he had nothing in his grasp that would pose a threat or a weapon. Thor looked up to Loki with a curious expression, but otherwise said nothing as his husband stood there with clenched his fists. Frigga continued to discuss her future unborn grandchild, whereas Sif merely stood watching Loki with a deep suspicion, and Loki simply smiled in turn. It was a dark and insincere smirk.

 

“What a coincidence,” Loki spat, “it seems we share the same fate.”

 

 _“Loki, you liar!_ Do not joke about this!”

 

“Oh, I would _never_ joke about this.”

 

He smiled to himself as he caught the look upon Jane’s face. It was merely a passing comment, one that she would likely see through, but it served to remind her just who it was that had married Thor and stole the attention away from her. He could not blame her for the concern of his husband, but that he could be pushed to one side – forgotten and ignored – when he had spent so long on the sidelines already . . .

 

Thor was at once on his feet with sheer rage. He also rested his hands upon the tabletop and leaned into Loki’s personal space, where his cheeks flushed red and his muscles seemed to tense. It would have intimidated a lesser man, but it was a simply relief to know that he had his husband’s full attention at long last, and so Loki merely raised his hand to signal patience and took a step back with a bright smile. To his credit, Thor waited. Loki gave a subtle bow, before he then made a grand gesture of putting his hand upon his flat stomach and stroked it to further goad Thor.

 

Thor made to lunge across the table. Loki noticed the intent behind the action and dove to a safe place beside the fire, where he would have both directions to run if the need called for it. Sif was at once upon Thor, before he could act violently or cause a disruption. She positioned herself between him and Loki and placed a hand upon his chest to push him back, whilst Frigga pulled Jane away and to her feet, as perhaps she anticipated an outright fight, which the two were once wont to do.

 

“He is lying! He is not with child at all!”

 

“That much is obvious,” Sif hissed.

 

“Is it?” Loki replied. “Ah, but if we consummated our marriage even _once_ then there is a chance at a conception, is there not? You cannot deny _that_ , unless you are saying that we have never committed such an act. If that were the case then it would imply our marriage to be nothing more than a sham, would it not?”

 

“The way I feel right now, Loki, I will drag you to the dungeons myself! Do not lie about this, not now! Jane needs my support and I do not have time to deal with your petty jealousy! You have me for a lifetime; she only needs me for the next seven months! Are you so petty as to make that difficult for all involved?”

 

“You would pick her child over ours? I feel so rejected.”

 

“ _Loki, damn you_ -!”

 

Thor dove forward with such strength that Sif struggled to hold him back. Loki took a few steps backwards, as the feeling of his racing heart gave him a sense of urgency that he had lacked in the previous year imprisoned. He missed these arguments with his new husband. The attention was bad, true, but it was attention nonetheless. It was also empowering to know that he could still garner such strong responses from Thor, and that his husband could still fall for his tricks so easily.

 

‘ _How interesting . . .’_

Loki turned at the sound of the new voice.

 

In a matter of seconds both men and Lady Sif had fallen to a respectful bow, Frigga simply gave a gentle nod of her head, and Jane seemed too confused to comprehend what was happening around her. It was difficult to pay her any mind when their king stood before them. Odin stood like a true king. He appeared grand in his armour, whilst the natural light behind him shone through to give him an undeniable aura, and yet his expression was an odd mixture of anger and amusement. It was a hard look to decipher, made harder by the stillness of his posture and the way he looked only to Thor, and even as Frigga stepped forward he made no sign as to having seen her.

 

“I thought that the guards were mistaken,” Odin said carefully. “I thought that my son – heir to the throne of Asgard – would surely not be so foolish as to bring a mere mortal to our realm, but it seems that I was mistaken. I am disappointed in you, Thor.”

 

“Father, I can explain. Jane and I –”

 

“There is no need. Would it be right to assume that this woman is with child?” Thor nodded. “I see. This is unexpected and unfortunate. I had expected more from you, Thor. You have acted unbecoming for a current prince and a future king, however all is not lost. I was fortunate to hear Loki’s sudden news. The birth of a legitimate heir shall be great cause for celebration. I do not have to explain to you, how a child born into wedlock takes priority over an illegitimate half-mortal. I look forward to seeing the grandchild that my son-in-law shall bring to me. Congratulations, Loki Laufeyson.

 

“I would add, however, that first pregnancies are difficult. They are also notoriously difficult to determine in the first few months for your race, and so it may be best to delay a trip to the healers by . . . shall we say two months? I think by that point we can be _certain_ of an heir. Of course, if it turns out that this is a ruse in a competition over Thor’s affections, we shall have to reconsider the validity of the marriage.”

 

“Father, you cannot -!”

 

“Silence, Thor! I did not expect you – of all people – to risk the stability of our realm by fathering a tribe of bastards, but the conception of a child with your husband will provide an undeniable heir. The importance of this should not have to be explained. I cannot allow any mortal to live in our realm, not least to ascend the throne. It is regrettable that it has come to this, for it was my intention that your marriage would be dissolved when the time was right, but you have sealed your fate on the matter. This woman may visit our healers, under the condition that it is Loki’s turn next.”

 

Loki felt his blood run cold. He had spoken with the intention to cause harm to Jane, to put her in her place, and such words were hardly alien to him or unfamiliar to Thor. They often argued throughout the years, sometimes bickering due to sibling rivalry and other times fighting due to intense rage, but even when they had come to blows – even when they insulted each other deeply – Odin had never taken them seriously. He knew that they did not mean true harm to one another.

 

That Odin would now decide to take Loki’s taunts seriously showed great political forethought, because there could be no doubt that – were it not for Jane – he would have otherwise overlooked such bitterness and merely chastised the two for such childish behaviour. Odin would never allow a half-mortal to rule over Asgard, and so he would rather accept a half-Jotun as a legitimate heir than any child Jane could produce. It was not a choice that he would pressure Loki into for selfless reasons, but rather that it was simply the better of two evils as far as their realm was concerned.

 

It seemed that Loki had brought about his own downfall. He had not meant his words to be used against him, but it seemed that Odin had done just that, and so Loki would be forced to choose between bearing an heir and returning to the dungeons. Loki touched his stomach instinctively. He did not wish to think about what would be involved in creating an heir, or the process in which it would come into the world, but he knew that the fear he felt was not a good sign. He wondered if he could change the Allfather’s mind, but as he thought to himself he saw Jane step before Odin with a scowl. She demanded his attention, but Odin was not a man to appreciate demands.

 

“You can’t just _blackmail_ people into having children,” Jane snapped. “I don’t even know where to begin with explaining why that’s so wrong! Not to mention that Loki is a man! How – I mean – it can’t even be possible, surely?”

 

“I think it best for you to hold your tongue.”

 

To give the young woman credit, she held her ground and looked with an unwavering confidence to Odin. Frigga signalled kindly for her to stay silent, but her expression only darkened and her body language seemed to tighten, and even when a lock of brown hair fell to obscure her sight she made no attempt to move it. Loki wondered if she had the courage to slap the Allfather, but – as amusing as that would be – it would likely end in her instant imprisonment.

 

“Excuse me,” Jane snapped, “but who do you think you are?”

 

“If you were paying attention,” Loki said bitterly, “you would know that this is Odin Borson, the Allfather. He is the father of Thor and the rightful king of Asgard. His will cannot be denied and his decisions are final.”

 

“It seems that you have learned your place, Loki,” Odin said kindly. “Thor, as for yourself, this woman will be seen to and then you will have her taken back to her realm to be amongst her kind. She does not need a healer; she needs a doctor. When your mare expects to bear foals, do you take her to healer? No, you take her to a vet. It is beneath you and the dignity of our realm to bring this woman to us.”

 

“Did he just refer to me as an _animal_?” Jane spat.

 

“Consider it a compliment,” Loki replied, “it is better than what I have been called.”

 

“ _Enough_ ,” Odin commanded.

 

Odin raised a hand for silence. It was a forceful gesture, yet one that spoke of respect to those at which it was aimed. The only insult came from the way that he did not speak to the two that required his attention most of all, ignoring those that would go on to birth his potential heirs, and instead he looked to Thor with an unyielding expression. Loki bit his tongue, but it was difficult in light of circumstances.

 

“My Queen and I shall lead the way to the healers,” Odin said sternly. “I trust that you will follow, Thor, once you have spoken to Loki on the matter of an heir. If there are any more arguments between you and your husband then I shall be most displeased, after all this cannot be good for Loki in his condition.”

 

“Of course, Father,” Thor said coldly. “I will join Jane shortly.”

 

“Good. Now that the issue sorted, it is time to take your mortal woman to the healers. The mortal, Jane Foster, will be allowed to stay in our realm for three more days, which shall be plenty of time for you to resolve the issue of a bastard child, and after that we may pray that it shall be the last we speak or hear of the issue.” Odin turned to Jane and Frigga. “Come, it is time for us to leave.”

 

“Obey, child,” Frigga said gently.

 

Frigga wrapped an arm around Jane’s shoulders, and then proceeded to lead her patiently behind her husband and out into the hall. It was an almost motherly gesture, but there was also sadness in her features that expressed a pain that lay deep within her breast. Jane cast a look over her shoulder to Thor, as if she sought to reach out to him for support, and as the doors behind them closed Loki felt his victory hollow.

 

Thor rounded upon him. The doors clicked closed with a soft sound, which at once cast them back into the dark room lit only by artificial light. Thor dove upon Loki and fisted his hands into his husband’s long coat, and he pushed forward with such force that the younger man felt the wall against his head before he even recognised it for what it was. The pain upon the back of his head was intense, so that he thought perhaps he had drew blood on impact, but no sooner had his vision ceased to blur did he feel himself raised onto tiptoe, followed by the sight of Thor’s finger pointed inches from his face. Loki tried to pry the fist from his chest.

 

“ _You fix this! You fix this now!”_

“Brother -. _Husband_. . . I think that –”

 

“If you thought before you spoke, we would not be in this mess!”

 

Thor threw Loki violently to one side. It forced Loki to stumble in a clumsy manner, and when he managed to regain balance he smiled to try to placate Thor and raised his hands in self-defence. He kept his palms open and visible as he slowly stepped back away from his husband, whilst Sif kept close by Thor’s side as if to stop him should he try to attack Loki. They continued for a while, until Thor grew tired of circling what was once his brother and flipped the table centre of the room.

 

“I will go speak to your father,” Loki said carefully. “I am sure that he will understand. He cannot expect us to produce an heir under such circumstances, and –”

 

“Loki, go,” Sif snapped. “I will talk to Thor.”

 

“You better fix this, Husband,” Thor continued. “I will not be coerced into having a child, merely because in your jealousy you screamed the first insult that came to mind! You will fix this, Loki, or so help me –”

 

“I shall fix it, I swear!”

 

Loki lowered his hands carefully. It seemed that Thor had calmed just enough to refrain from violence, albeit his breath came out in fast pants and Sif was forced to lay a hand upon him to hold him back. Loki tried to remain calm, but as angry as he felt he knew that Thor’s rage would be tenfold. That they could have a child together was an idea neither could abide and so an alternative solution would need to be found.

 

He left through the doors and went into the walkway, where two guards at once fell in on either side of him. The sound of shouts echoed out into the walkway, whilst occasionally the sound of furniture breaking combined with it to express aptly the prince’s rage. Loki felt afraid. The fear that Jane’s child could usurp his position and seal his fate as a prisoner was bad enough, but that he could be held a prisoner to his own body – forced to carry a child – was a fate even worse. He needed to stop this.

 

“Take me to the healing rooms,” he commanded.

 

“Yes, Prince Loki.”

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

# Chapter Ten

****

Loki walked into the garden.

 

He kept his stride slow, as well as casual enough to turn the act of walking into something of a pantomime, and as he swung one leg before the other he gave a deep sigh and shook his head. The palace wall had been carved into an array of stone steps that led downwards, and as he walked dazedly down them he caught sight of the one with which he wished to speak. She sat lost in thought and oblivious to his presence.

 

It was when he reached the last step that he sat beside her. He kept his hands clasped between his knees and tried to ignore how uncomfortable the stone felt; it had not been intended to be used as a seating arrangement and had been worn uneven through centuries of use. He tried to collect his thoughts as an awkward silence fell. It was far from the silences he was used to with Thor, where it was simply a matter of finding the right words to comfort one another, but this awkwardness was to be expected with one whom he had no relationship. He listened to the sound of her breath and waited, because his words would dictate the tone of the conversation to come.

 

She had changed clothes since leaving the healing rooms, and it seemed that someone – quite likely his mother – had provided her with Asgardian attire. It suited her. The silver robe fit perfectly and was styled to hide the small roundness to her stomach, whilst the blue overcoat was oversized according to the latest fashion of the court, and silver patterns seemed to dance around the hemming. Loki thought that he had seen her necklace and bracelet before, but he pushed the thought away.

 

“I assume that all is well,” Loki said.

 

Jane looked at him with a suspicious gaze. It was a surprise to see her alone when she had been in their realm for only a few hours, but if she had requested time alone after her trip to the healers then it was understandable. There was a lot to take in for everyone involved, but for her to be the centre of such controversy would likely take its toll, and there would be a vast amount for her to consider. It was something that Loki could understand, for it seemed that he would share in her fate.

 

“It’s fine,” Jane replied a little sadly. “I mean, they say I’m in full-health and the baby is developing properly, but . . . I kind of get the impression that it would have been better if that weren’t the case. You should have seen the expression on Odin’s face.”

 

“Oh, I am sure that I can imagine.”

 

“I didn’t plan for this to happen,” she continued. “We used protection, but it just . . . _happened_! I didn’t mean to get in between you and Thor; I knew that I had to give him up, that we couldn’t carry on seeing each other, but then this happened and I -! Don’t get me wrong, it’s not as though I expect us to get back together, but this is our child . . . they’re innocent in all of this . . . they don’t deserve so much hate.”

 

Loki touched his stomach out of instinct. He caught the look of concern that Jane wore, as one would expect from an expectant mother, but it was hardly a reassuring expression. This was the reason why he had never before given thought to a child; it had been bad enough to consider a child born to an unwanted man, but to consider creating a child that was half-Jotun was a crime in itself. If Jane’s child were loathed by Odin for being a bastard half-mortal, what would hate would Loki’s child receive?

 

There was a small breeze throughout the garden, whilst the air seemed to grow crisp and cold as the day grew on and the night came closer, and he wondered how it felt to Jane as she sat underdressed for the weather. The gardens were too quiet; training often took place in the courtyards and the royals were currently locked inside in heated discussion, and Loki had only been allowed outside in order to see to it that Jane was aware that her time in Asgard was limited. Odin had once told Loki that those from Midgard and Jotunheim were equal to all Asgardians, but it seemed that was only true when romantic entanglements were not involved.

 

“Thor sought to hide you to protect you from that fact,” Loki said. “Granted, he may have just avoided using our healers altogether, but his ‘honour’ would have forbade him from settling on second-best where the health of his child is concerned. If he rules his realm as he does his personal life, we can expect a _very_ interesting era ahead.”

 

“How can you talk about Thor with that kind of sarcasm? He’s your husband.”

 

“So I should ignore his faults and fall at his feet? Not all of us can be so blinded by love. He only had to tell us of your arrival, so that we may have understood and hid it from the Allfather, but instead he leads us to believe that he is flaunting his conquests and badly conducting an affair! It is difficult to respect a man that could have kept the status quo, but instead brought about disaster by refusing to apply forethought.”

 

“I won’t deny that Thor could have gone about this better,” Jane replied, “but that doesn’t mean he’s the idiot you make him out to be! He saved our people. He fought for us. He even risked his life for me, he could have died . . .”

 

“Is _that_ why you claim to love him? Is that why you slept with my husband?”

 

Jane blushed in embarrassment.

 

Loki found himself happy to see her flustered, because it at least showed that she knew the damage her actions had caused. She brushed a lock of hair behind her ear and drew in a deep breath, then turned to look at Loki as if to question his reason for asking, and as she looked her expression softened as if she had seen something that she hadn’t quite expected. It was enough for her to look away with a hint of sadness.

 

It was clear that they loved one another, but it seemed ridiculous for either to claim to be _in_ love . . . for Jane to have spent her days searching for Thor, for Thor to have spent his days mourning for the loss of Jane . . . it seemed that their love was superficial. Jane loved Thor out of gratitude from being rescued, Thor loved what was exotic and different from the norm in his realm, and Loki could not help but feel bitter at that thought. He had spent his life desperately seeking Thor’s respect and acknowledgement, and in a few days – after experiencing a mere crush – he had fallen for this woman and all but forgotten Loki. It was not her fault, but it hurt.

 

She turned to face him with a smile, and – although her brown eyes shimmered with unshed tears – it seemed that she was sincerely reaching out to Loki in some way. He smiled in turn and tried to refrain from glaring at her, but knew that there was no real reason to hide his true feelings, especially when she would be back within Midgard in a matter of days. She looked as if she sought to sincerely talk with him, but he could not bring himself to trust the woman pregnant with his husband’s bastard child.

 

“I didn’t sleep with Thor to hurt you,” Jane said gently.

 

“You knew that he was to be married.”

 

“I did,” she continued, “but he told me that there was nothing romantic between him and his fiancée, that it was all a political arrangement. I won’t deny that it wasn’t right, I mean I knew that he was engaged, but it was our last ever time together . . . he would have to spend years – if not forever – tied to a woman he didn’t love, and I was about to lose the man I had spent nearly _two years_ waiting for. We were both mourning what we could have had, both still in love . . .

 

“It was just meant to be one perfect moment together, a chance to show our love and something to remember each other by, because we would never have a chance to be with each other again. Thor wasn’t going to break his vows to his wife, and he made it clear that we would never see each other again, but . . . haven’t you ever been in love? Surely, at some point, you’ve felt complete attraction to someone, something you just can’t put into words! It was just the first real moment alone together we had, but it was also the last . . . we just wanted to make the most of what we had.”

 

Loki moved his hands onto his lap, where he interlocked his fingers to hide the fact that he was moments away from clenching his hands in rage. He looked down at the soft grass underfoot, the hundreds of blades now a far greater distraction from his emotions than they ought to be, and as he schooled his expression he felt a coldness in his breast that he did not enjoy. There were many questions that he had to ask, but they were questions best answered by Thor than a naively romantic woman.

 

The truth was that he could not comprehend the emotion that she had described, because he had never allowed himself to fall in love or to be overwhelmed by any crush, and so such infatuation was alien to him. It felt ridiculous for two people to claim love after a three-day period and a two-year wait, but worse when the object of another’s love was his very husband. He had been in Thor’s life for over a millennium, he had loved him more dearly than any other, but this woman – this _fling_ – claimed a love stronger than anything Loki could. She _pleaded_ with him to understand as if this were understandable. Loki felt betrayed.

 

“You still claim to be in love?”

 

“I don’t know,” Jane admitted. “I love Thor, but since coming here it’s been a bigger wake-up call than I care to admit. Your realm is amazing, I absolutely love it, but I couldn’t live in a place without access to my research and my work, and I don’t think Thor could live on Earth with me, either. I’d eventually grow old, grow infirm, and I don’t want him to ever see me that way.”

 

“What of your child? You will have a child that is half-Asgardian. If it inherits Thor’s lifespan then you will have bigger issues to consider than just cultural differences. You know that an Asgardian child will need an Asgardian home.”

 

“No, that was the first thing Odin asked Eir.” Jane gave a relieved sigh. “The baby is developing like a normal human pregnancy, and the tests say that they are perfectly healthy too, so they should have a perfectly normal lifespan. The only difference between them and any other human is that they might inherit Thor’s strength and fast healing, essentially an Asgardian with a mortal lifespan. I’m just relieved that they’re perfectly okay. Thor wasn’t even sure a human could carry an Asgardian child.”

 

“That would explain your needed trip to Eir.”

 

Loki cast a look to her stomach. It was difficult to tell its shape under the blue material, but there was enough there to suggest a rounded bulge that would soon became vastly enlarged. There would be no way for a mortal child to inherit the throne, not least because they would be dead before the issue of inheritance would even come about, but the realisation of this only made him bitter than he had retaliated as he had in the room earlier.

 

Their people would be tolerant of an affair committed outside of wedlock, especially when the child was no threat to the throne, and so – had he remained silent – there was the possibility that this would have been passed over and forgotten. There was something reassuring about the status quo. He would have retained his freedom, but he would have also have been free from the expectations of an heir to validate his marriage, and yet it was possible that he would have lost Thor had he not spoken out. That was the question that plagued him: would Thor have chosen Jane if he could?

 

“Thor appears to love you deeply.”

 

“If you’re trying to find out whether he’s _in love_ with me, then you would have to ask Thor that,” Jane said. “I know that he never planned for this child, but I also know that he loves them more than anything, our child’s innocent in this.”

 

“You keep referring to the child as ‘they’,” Loki asked coldly.

 

“What would you prefer for me to call them? They aren’t an ‘it’; they’re a living child inside me. I’ve already been playing with some names, so that when I know the gender I’ll have something real to call them, but until then . . . they’re my baby, my child, and I can’t just refer to them as if they’re an object, as if they’re nothing.”

 

It seemed as if Jane were ready to accept this child unconditionally, a child that was only half-mortal and would have more power than she could imagine, and yet she spoke of it as if it were a person. It wasn’t a mistake or a monster, it was simply her child, and as such he had to admire her commitment to a baby that should – by all rights – have never come into existence. He wondered if she loved it due to their shared blood. It may have been that if Loki had shared blood with Odin that he would have still been loved, that there would not be conditions on their relationship, but Loki knew that he would have always been a monster. He was never meant to be king.

 

“What will you do next?”

 

“We’re still discussing it,” Jane admitted. “I’m currently planning on raising our child alone, but Thor wants to be a part of their life . . . I just don’t see it possible. I think it’s best that he stay here and just visit periodically. I know we can’t be together, it probably wouldn’t work out even if we were, but to just have him around all the time would only hurt both of us and confuse our child.”

 

“So you will raise the child yourself? You could abandon it.”

 

“No. I couldn’t.”

 

Jane turned where she sat to look at him properly. Her outerwear made a scraping sound upon the rough stone as she moved, whilst the lowering sun cast dark shadows upon her face. He noticed that it looked as if she had been deprived of sleep for several days, with her eyes puffy and red, and her skin looking pale and sullen. She had dealt with this pregnancy alone and without emotional support, and it showed . . .

 

She looked at him with a furious expression, which in turn caused him to look at her with a rather insincere smile. He allowed his mouth to pull at the corner and leaned back against the stone steps, and as he rested his elbows against the step above him he found a sense of enjoyment in seeing her so angry, because it showed strength of character that many lacked. It was interesting to see someone stand up to a prince. He admired her, even if he resented her for having the affections of his husband and the man whose attention he had searched for a lifetime. She was unusual.

 

“You _really_ don’t know me, if you think I would just abandon my child! I am _not_ going to give up on him or her just because they weren’t planned, it’s not their fault that they’re here! That may be right for some people, but whilst I can raise them – whilst I can support them emotionally and financially – then I will! I don’t care if Thor only appears every few months or years, this is _my_ child and I love them! What kind of culture is this where you could just suggest that so flippantly?”

 

“One in which I was left to die for being a runt,” Loki said coldly, “and another in which I was disowned entirely and called a monster for simply acting according to my nature. I suppose you also would not take kindly to the suggestion of an abortion?”

 

“No, I wouldn’t.”

 

The way she became devoid of emotion showed her resolution, and he admired the way that she could stand up for her child in the face of such adversity. Loki doubted that a termination would ever be an ‘easy’ choice, but it would certainly release her from constant discrimination and the difficulties in raising a part-Asgardian child, and it would possibly even defuse the fragile political situation. It was interesting to see her stand by her beliefs. She did not yield to what Odin would have surely suggested.

 

“I won’t lie,” Jane confessed. “I thought about towards the very start. It just didn’t feel right though, and the longer I left it the longer I became more attached to the idea of having a child. Then Darcy came home one day with a babygro that had a little Union Jack on the front, and it then suddenly hit me . . . I was going to have a baby.”

 

“I would have thought that would be an obviousfact.”

 

“It isn’t though. It’s hard to explain . . . it’s like you know in your mind that you’re going to have a child, but you don’t feel it, and then all of a sudden you just feel it in your heart. I guess everything hinged on that moment for me. If I had felt anything other than happiness then I may have gone through with it, but I didn’t. It just felt right for me. It was just something that I knew I had to do.”

 

Loki caught the look of pride upon her face. In that instant he was reminded somewhat of his mother, because it was that same look of unconditional love that she often wore. He held no doubts that she would love the child, although if it inherited Thor’s strength and disposition then it would be a very trying childhood to endure, but he could not help but wonder how Thor would feel about her raising their child alone.

 

The night seemed to be approaching quickly, enough to alert Loki to the fact that this woman had spent almost the majority of the day with the healers or otherwise locked in debate with Thor and the Allfather, and it seemed that – despite all that – she had somehow reached a decision easily enough on her own. It almost felt as if Thor had never been a part of the plan, not out of spite or malice, but simply out of practicalities and a confidence in her abilities. He envied her the choice to have the child or not, the surety that she could raise it if she chose, and that even as the world around her argued and fought that she could already know her mind.

 

It was a freedom that he lacked. He also could not help but resent that – despite the end of their romantic bond – their unborn child would forever tie her to Thor. The air suddenly grew cold, more so than he had anticipated, and he missed his furs and fur-lined clothing, but he merely gave a smile and tried to ignore the discomfort. There was nothing to return inside for aside from arguments with his husband, and that it would irritate Thor further to wait served as further incentive for Loki to take his time.

 

“How about you?” Jane asked. “Are they still expecting you to have an heir?”

 

Loki gave an almost imperceptible wince. The smile on his lips deepened as he gave a small nod to his head, and when he looked down at the floor he felt his amusement at his predicament darken considerably. He raised one leg onto the step and rested his arm upon his knee, followed by a heavy exhale of breath through his nose, and when he turned his gaze to Jane he saw her look rather curiously upon him. She seemed to pity him. It felt strange when he had earlier pitied her instead.

 

“Once the mind of the Allfather is made, it cannot be swayed,” Loki said gravely. “I have no doubts that – had your pregnancy gone unnoticed – nothing would have been demanded of me. You would have posed no threat to the marriage, and we all know that I am _far_ from the ideal candidate as far as mother to an heir is concerned. We would have continued to live in the status quo and that would have been that.

 

“Now we have no other option. Unless Thor and I prove that our relationship is more than just a façade, that there is a long-term commitment, then our people will doubt our motivations and cease to see the validity our of marriage. I suppose that there is also the fact that a half-Jotun heir will unify the two kingdoms, and create an alliance of the realms, far better than a simple adoption of a runt ever could. It will give our people cause to celebrate, and with a war on their doorstep they will need all the hope that they can get, not to mention that a legitimate heir will secure Thor’s lineage.”

 

“I just – I mean I . . . _how_? How can you even . . .?”

 

“The Jotun are not like those from Asgard or Midgard. They are a race whose men are capable of reproduction, and as such I was born with that same capability. It is a good job that I was less promiscuous than my brother, for without knowledge of my genetics then I may have had a tribe of children of my own by now, but luckily I was one to know how to keep my legs closed. The gestation period is less than the Asgardian, our physiology is quite different, but the offspring of the Jotun tend to be strong and the pregnancies quite safe. They are also known to interbreed well with those of other realms, so I will be able to carry Thor’s child well.

 

“If you were truly interested in the intricacies, I’m sure that we have many a book that you could read during your time here, but as for now . . . let’s just say that it’s rather like breathing. In your throat you have a sort of ‘door’, one that moves one way to allow in air and another to allow in food, with air and food never mistaking their place and never going where they should not. The ‘door’ in question works the same way, where it will move one way for waste and another for reproductive purposes. There are very few races whose men have this ability, but it is both natural and safe.”

 

Loki stopped to consider his words. The truth was that – having been raised Asgardian – he had never considered being with child or birthing a child, and once he had discovered his heritage it had still been far from his mind. He had assumed that his Asgardian form would prevent him from becoming pregnant, but it seemed that inside he was truly the monster that he believed, and that he would be forced to bear a creature half-Jotun. He would have to live with the guilt that he would be purposely bringing into the world a cursed life, one that should never exist and would be less than a person. It was difficult to bear. He did not think that he could hate a child when its existence was solely a fault of Loki’s, but how could he love something so flawed?

 

He clenched his fists and cursed Odin with a silent breath. If he had been allowed to die that day then his existence would never have plagued others, nor would he have the chance to bring more of his kind into the world. Odin had been right: he had been born to die. His survival was not a blessing or a miracle, it was a curse, and now he would be forced to pass that curse onto an innocent child. The fertility rate for the Asgardian race was low, perhaps due to their long lifespan, and so all Loki could persuade Odin to do was to give them more time, but otherwise his fate was sealed.

 

“I’m guessing it will come out the same way that it goes in,” Jane said.

 

Her tone indicated that she wasn’t asking a question, merely stating aloud a fact that would otherwise have remained unspoken. The sun had fallen low, enough that the skyline had become ablaze with colours of gold and crimson and the sky itself felt alive. It cast wild shadows about the garden and darkened Jane’s face to the point that her sympathy seemed to look almost like pain, as if she felt pain for Loki. He did not think for an instant that a mortal was capable of empathy, especially for a creature like himself, but he appreciated it nonetheless. He felt less alone in that instant.

 

“The Jotun and Asgardian races have vast healing capabilities,” Loki replied. “If so long as a wound is held together, then it shall be able to heal itself and repair itself well. It means I should not have to worry about infection or the need for stitches, as a human might, instead I merely have to wait for my insides to return to normal size, shed the extra lining assumed during pregnancy, and deal with the exhaustion.”

 

“You seem so calm. I’ve been absolutely terrified since I made up my mind to keep the baby, just knowing where and how it’ll come out into the world . . . not to mention whether or not I’ll be a good mother. Aren’t you scared?”

 

“I am resolved. The alternative is annulment and imprisonment.”

 

“Do you always evade straightforward questions?”

 

Loki stood up. The low-lying sun sent streaming beams of light into his eyesight, which was both painful and something of a relief, and as he turned around he looked down to Jane and offered her his hand. She seemed to pause for a moment, as if unsure whether to take it and afraid of what it might mean, but eventually she reached up and allowed him to help her to her feet. The two shared a brief moment watching the sunset. It was a welcome distraction from an uncomfortable conversation.

 

“I am not afraid of the physical pain,” Loki said calmly. “I am more afraid of getting attached to the creature, this half-Jotun monstrosity, and then having it hated by the world at large as I am. It would be even worse to love it. They may decide to take it from me, for I do not see how they could let someone like me raise a child. I see an array of servants raising it, perhaps my mother and her husband, but not myself.”

 

“Your mother told me that you’re so perceptive,” Jane replied, “but not so much when it comes to yourself. You misunderstand yourself, which means that in turn you misunderstand others . . . you’re not alone, you just think you are.”

 

“How sweet. You mean all my fears are unfounded?”

 

“She seems to think so.”

 

He kept his expression schooled into one of indifference. It was not enough that his mother believed such naïve thoughts about him, but now it seemed that she had shared those thoughts with Jane, leading the other woman to also believe them. He tried to hold his tongue. It was difficult when this woman had not only stolen the attentions of his husband, but now his mother as well, and he could not help but look forward to the day when she would be gone from their realm. He surprised himself by how calm he managed to keep his words when he spoke.

 

“You have known me for a _day_ ,” Loki snapped. “Do you really think you’re in a position to understand my feelings? My mother knows _nothing_. The son she knew was merely a lie, an illusion, and now she faces the truth of a monster she cannot accept it nor deal with it! She is determined to believe in the lie, as if that will somehow give it truth. Do not pretend to understand me.”

 

Jane gave him a look that combined both anger and pity. Loki wished to wipe that look from her face, but if he treated her cruelly in any way – even with just words – then there would be consequences. They stood for a long moment simply looking at one another, each one feeling an intense frustration with the other, and yet neither said a single word. Loki turned away first, only to see Thor at the top of the stone steps.

 

He did not know how long Thor had been standing there, perhaps listening to an otherwise private conversation, but it seemed that – at the very least – he now listened to the pair with great curiosity. It was disconcerting the way that Thor stared at him. Loki locked eyes with his husband for a brief instant, as he tried to analyse just what he had done to deserve such interest, and then looked away under the assumption that Thor sought to supervise the discussion, as if he wanted to protect Jane from him. Loki looked back to Jane and made a show of seemingly engaging her interest.

 

It was hard not to send glances at Thor’s direction, especially when the older male had dressed so casually and revealed so much of himself. He had left his arms bare, whilst only a pair of wristbands and chest-armour covered his upper body, and without the rest of his attire it seemed that there was more emphasis on the shape of his body. Loki drew his eyes along the knee-length boots, the tight trousers and bare arms in order to reach Thor’s gaze with a rather smug smirk. He had Thor’s full attention.

 

“I do apologise for my tone,” he said.

 

He gave a bright – almost sincere – smile and directly locked his eyes with Jane’s, before he then reached for her hand and took it within his. It was all done slowly and purposefully, and even when he reached down to imitate the act of kissing her hand – his lips just a mere inch from her skin – he kept eye-contact with her, despite the hiss of breath that he could hear from above the steps. He kept her hand close in his for a long moment, longer than etiquette required, and then let go with a cocky grin.

 

It seemed that Jane knew what he tried to achieve, so that the only response he received was a half-embarrassed glare at having been used to manipulate an emotional response from Thor. Loki abandoned her gaze in order to cast his eyes to his husband. It seemed that he had not once looked to his mistress, which seemed strange to Loki when he had so obviously flirted with her. He seemed flustered and furious with Loki, enough that after a few seconds of maintained eye contact he had turned on his heels and stormed out of sight. It was a far less satisfying reaction than Loki anticipated.

 

“He’s gone now,” Jane said. “I’m not sure what you were trying to accomplish, but he’s gone and we’re alone. So will you at least tell me why you said it? Why you claimed to be pregnant when you obviously weren’t? You could have avoided all of this if you had just kept quiet . . . was it just jealousy?”

 

“You’re carrying my husband’s child. I think I have a right to be angry.”

 

“So jealousy it is then?”

 

Loki clenched his fists and glared at her. The sun had completely set and cast the garden into darkness, and suddenly the cold felt almost unbearable upon his skin, so that if he didn’t withdraw inside soon then he would likely fall ill. He had no idea how she stood the cold so well, but nor did he have any interest in finding out, and frankly a discussion about jealousy felt ridiculous. He began to walk up the steps without a word, but then stopped midway to turn to her with a forced smile.

 

“I think it is time that I show you to your room,” Loki said coldly.

 

“Thanks, can’t wait.”

 

 


	11. Chapter 11

# Chapter Eleven

 

“Can you not change his mind?”

 

Thor watched Loki with curious interest. It seemed that the brush in his husband’s hand stilled for a brief moment, as if he took that time to properly consider the question that hung heavy in the air, but he soon resumed the repetitive movement with an almost hypnotic rhythm. The rounded mirror reflected Loki’s face back to Thor, where he could see the paleness to the other’s features and the slight purse to his lips.

 

It was clear that Loki was just as frustrated by the turn of events, but it was difficult to pity the man that had brought such misfortune upon them. That Loki could be silent – after he had lashed out so thoughtlessly – was enough to make Thor’s blood run hot and his fists clench. It appeared that his husband was oblivious to his dissatisfaction, enough that he wondered if Loki even cared. He seemed to simply stare at himself in the golden-rimmed mirror, whilst he brushed his hair and prepared for bed, and – even as Thor tried to catch his eye – he seemed adamant on avoiding the older man’s gaze.

 

Thor sat upon the sofa behind Loki. He sat with legs apart and bare arms on his knees, and as he leaned forward his loose hair fell about his face and shielded the mirrored walls of the dressing room from view. Loki, meanwhile, sat upon the golden stool at the dressing table; his sleeping-bottoms were already upon his legs and his daywear tunic hid his body from view, and beside Thor sat the sleeping-tunic ready to be donned. He looked to Loki’s reflection and smacked his hand upon his leg for sound.

 

“I am talking to you, Loki!”

 

“Yes, so it seems,” Loki snapped. “Thank you, _Husband_ , for explaining to me those sounds that you made. I would have otherwise been at a loss, but with you by my side I am sure that I will succeed in all future dialogues.”

 

Loki placed his hairbrush down upon the dressing table. He turned to face Thor, at which point his pain and anger became apparent. Loki’s skin had paled considerably and dark lines had appeared under his eyes, but his hair had fallen thick and curly below his shoulders and distracted attention from his depression. Thor noticed how his husband’s hair caught upon his tunic so as to bare his neck, and – without realising – he found that his eyes had trailed down that column in a curious examination.

 

The silence that followed was not uncomfortable, but it was unwelcome. Thor felt cold only half-dressed and bare-chested in such an empty room, as well as far too exposed before one that had sought to cause him great harm in the past, and he was aware that Loki felt that same vulnerability too. They knew what would eventually have to happen, but so far they had only the awkward silence and growing fears.

 

“I’ll have you know that I spoke to _your_ father,” Loki continued bitterly, “and he refused to budge on the matter. I must have debated for over an hour with him, but all I could do was to get him to agree to extend the timeframe. He insists on an heir.”

 

“That is a small blessing, at least. How long do we have?”

 

“Not long enough. We have a year to conceive.”

 

“A year?”

 

Thor had hoped for something more substantial. If they had been given a more lenient timeframe, perhaps three to five years, then they could have waited until the last moment and instead have Loki prove himself in battle. They would then have grounds for a safe annulment, and they would be free to live their lives as they wished. It was a foolish dream, and one that would also have meant parting ways from the one person that he had loved most in his life, but it would have left them with their freedom.

 

“You said that you would fix this!” Thor shouted. “You said that you would fix what you have done, that we would not be forced into this! You have to try again! You are the one with the silver-tongue, you will talk to Father and –”

 

“And _what_ , Thor? I hate to say it, but this opportunistic decision is probably the best for our realm. This will secure the throne, provide an undeniable heir, and give our people cause for celebration in the face of an unavoidable war. You claim to have matured, well then _act_ like the king you will one day become and accept that we will have to make sacrifices.”

 

“Damn it, Loki! This is not a decision to be made lightly! It may be right for our realm, but this is will bind us together _forever_ , do you not realise that? There will be no annulment. There will be no chance for freedom. There will just me, you and a child that we do not even know if we are ready to raise!”

 

“What do you want from me? I know this. I know this well!”

 

“Then do not act so indifferent!”

 

“I will act as I like!”

 

Loki’s expression became dangerous. It became clear there were two sides to this man: the husband that he had grown to respect and the darker part of Loki, the manipulative part that held an inner violence borne from years of depression. Thor leaned back against the sofa. He rested his arms along the back and stretched out his legs, whilst he kept a steady gaze upon Loki. He knew better than to lash out at his husband, but it was difficult to remain calm when Loki acted so indifferently.

 

They were indeed close, but they were far from a point that they could feel comfortable with such expected intimacy, even further from a point to consider the commitment of raising a child. He could see the almost imperceptible shake to Loki’s hands, and the way that his eyes narrowed upon a fixed spot upon the patterned floor, but his husband kept his emotions hidden well considering how furious and frightened he surely was. Loki was not one to open up emotionally, and when he did it was often solely to manipulate those around him. It was almost admirable, but infuriating.

 

“And when there is a child,” Thor asked, “then will you still act as you like?”

 

“A year is most reasonable,” Loki insisted. “The fertility of our people is quite low, a lucky fact, otherwise we would be vastly overpopulated and our resources would be depleted, perhaps within only a century or two. It is not impossible for us to conceive on one try, but – unlike your mortal woman – the fertility cycle of a Jotun or Asgardian is far slower . . . it may take months – even years – for your seed to take.

 

“I do not know what is my cycle or what my fertility is like. I only know that I can bear children, which should be enough for now. The Allfather bore in mind that we may need more time and adjusted his expectations accordingly; we have gone from two months to an entire year, and if we sincerely struggle then we have permission to speak to the healers and try for another year. We can take a chance and wait for the first year to pass before we try, on the hope that another option will present itself, or we can simply try now and have the whole ordeal over with as soon as possible.”

 

“Do not ignore me, Loki! I am not in the mood for you to evade my questions!”

 

“Has it crossed your mind once that I may not _have_ any answers?” Loki snapped. “I do not want a child, especially not with _you_ , and yet here I am . . . no longer a prisoner of my cell, but instead a prisoner to my own body. I simply wish to take this one step at a time. There is no child as of yet to concern ourselves with, so it is best that we focus on conception first and _then_ raising it.”

 

“I see, so you wish to talk about conception?”

 

Thor stood and looked down to Loki coldly. The younger man merely gave an insincere look of surprise and confusion, before he leaned back and crossed his legs at his ankles, whilst his hands he waved to signal that he awaited some further words. Thor took a step forward. He pointed his finger in the other man’s direction, and stabbed the air as if it were the very cause of all his anger. It had little effect on Loki, but it wiped the smirk from his face and replaced it with a look of resignation.

 

“Tell me, Loki, how can one with an Asgardian body carry a child?”

 

“I may be an Asgardian on the outside,” Loki replied calmly, “but I am nothing but a filthy Jotun on the inside. I cannot control the way I look any more than I can control my physiology, but perhaps one day I will cast for you the illusion of my Jotun form, I am sure that you would just _love_ that. You always did have a taste for the exotic.”

 

“So that is it? You will bear and birth this child? A child of ours?”

 

It was difficult to remain calm, but he reminded himself that Loki’s way of dealing with negative emotions was different to his. Thor was one to scream and destroy what was in sight, but Loki – unless his grief was truly extreme – was one to reason and rationalise, he was one more content to philosophise than to react violently. It was likely that his husband needed time to process recent events.

 

Loki turned his gaze to Thor, where he seemed to spend more time looking upon Thor’s bared body than he did his eyes. It took him a while, as if he had to search for the strength to act, but eventually he stood up and walked across the room to Thor. He stood an inch or so from him, with his green eyes locked upon his husband’s with a serious expression, and in that moment Thor felt as if the man he had once known had returned to him. He could not help but smile just slightly with a sense of relief. There was no guarantee that Loki would do right, but at least he seemed to listen.

 

“If we are to do this then we best do it soon,” Thor conceded. “I will have no part in this until I know that your mind is certain! You will think about this properly, Loki. This is a serious decision, one that will change our lives, and so I expect you to treat it with the consideration that it deserves. Shall a week be enough for you to decide?”

 

“A choice between a child or imprisonment? You can give me a day, a week, or even a century and my answer would be the same, but if it will put your mind at ease then _fine_. A week shall be plenty. Now will you turn around? I wish to change.”

 

Thor drew in a deep breath and cast his eyes down Loki’s frame. The younger man stood with bare feet upon the floor, sleeping-bottoms that framed his legs rather well, and so – it seemed – he only had to change the tunic upon his chest in order to be ready for the night to come. That Loki would be so self-conscious about baring his chest was ridiculous enough, but to make Thor turn around as if he were a stranger was an insult. He was Loki’s husband. There should have been trust and complete openness between them, but it seemed that was still merely a dream.

 

“You can not be serious,” Thor said.

 

“I will not have you _leering_ at me as I change,” Loki snapped. “You wanted to sit with me and talk, despite this being a _dressing room_ , and I allowed it. You can at least do me the common courtesy of turning around as I undress.”

 

“Loki, if you do agree to bear forth an heir, then I will be forced to see you in a far worse state than simply shirtless! You are being childish!”

 

“Turn around, Thor.”

 

Thor spun around violently. He clenched his hands into tight fists and lowered his head, but – as he closed his eyes to try and regain his patience – he found his anger hard to keep under control. There was something disconcerting about the way his heart drummed in his ears, or the cold sweat upon him, and as he tried to still his heart he wanted nothing more than to scream at Loki for his immaturity. He heard Loki snatch the sleeping-tunic from the sofa and walk back to the dressing table.

 

“ _Thank you_ ,” Loki spat.

 

The sound of clothes rustling echoed about rather loudly, enough for Thor to cast his eyes about the other half of the dressing room for some sort of distraction, and as he did he noticed something that Loki had overlooked. The mirrored walls reflected Loki’s form almost perfectly. He smirked to himself and watched as Loki shed his tunic in the reflection, and a part of him – a rather small part – wondered if his husband knew about this, if it were intentional. It entertained him to watch.

 

Loki’s body was still incredibly handsome. He had lost some muscle tone from his many months imprisoned, but he was still fit and defined, even if his mass was nothing like any of Asgard’s greatest warriors. Loki stretched before the dressing mirror, then turned left and right with a curious expression upon his face, and when he touched his hand to his stomach – stroking as one might when they expected a child – it was then that Thor realised what the younger man was thinking. He smiled and shook his head. He admired Loki’s body for a moment longer, from the small scattering of black hair upon his chest, to the small trail that began just a little higher than the hem of his bottoms. He could not deny that Loki was attractive.

 

“This is ridiculous,” Thor said with a smile. “You know that, surely?”

 

“I will remind you that I am not your mistress,” Loki snapped. “She may be fine with your eyes upon her, but if I wanted to be watched like an animal in a cage then I would have remained imprisoned. If you want someone to leer at, then I suggest you go to her rooms, because I – ”

 

“I _mean_ that the walls are mirrored. I can still see you.”

 

Loki froze. He leaned on the dressing table with his knuckles, drew in a deep breath, then snatched the sleepwear beside him and hastily pulled it on with a dangerous look in his eyes. Thor turned to see Loki buttoning it in an angry manner, with his long fingers gliding over each button in an admirably swift way, and the garment suited him well. The green material fell to the backs of Loki’s knees, whilst the front fell open from the waist, and Thor appreciated that the buttons only began some way down the chest, which left a long triangle of skin on show.

 

“You could have not have told me sooner?” Loki snapped.

 

“I could not,” Thor replied with a short laugh. “You always were far too self-conscious, Husband. I just wish that you would cease to compare yourself to Jane, for you are not her and nor will you ever be, it is a simple fact.”

 

“How wonderful, I am second-best yet again.”

 

Loki pulled his hair out from under his collar, and readjusted the tunic from where it had ridden up with the movement. He looked again to the mirror, but this time he did so with a hint of sadness to his eyes, and his adjustments now seemed trivial and more than a little obsessive for one who was soon to retire to bed. Thor came behind him and took a hold of his neck gently in one hand. Loki seemed to fall into the touch.

 

“Why must you always paint your differences to be a bad thing?” Thor asked, as Loki pulled away. “I have always loved you and that love will not stop simply because Jane carries my child. You are never second best. I wish sometimes that you could see yourself with my eyes. I love Jane, yes, but the love I hold for you both is different.”

 

“Yes, the romantic love you hold for her is more intense than any platonic love that you hold for me, and for as long as you are married to me then I shall provide an obstacle to your happiness. That is the difference.”

 

“Do you really think that is how I feel?”

 

“I _know_ that is how you feel,” Loki snapped. “If Mother hadn’t invented this insane plan, if she hadn’t raised the option of marriage for you to consider, then the likelihood is that you would have never visited me, you would have forgotten me, and you would have abandoned your kingdom to be with _her_.”

 

“Then I am grateful that Mother did think of this plan,” Thor replied sternly. “I will not deny that I would rather have married for love, or that I do not wish for a child at this moment, but I am glad to have you by my side.”

 

“Then what of Jane Foster?”

 

Loki raised his hands on either side of himself, as if to dare Thor to say or do something, but when the blond man merely clenched his fists the younger of the two simply scoffed and walked away into the closet. It was infuriating to see his husband walk away like that. He so often presumed to know Thor’s feelings, but he knew so little of the love that his family and friends held for him, and with each sneer he did nothing but throw their love back into their faces.

 

Thor stormed after Loki, whilst the other folded his clothes and prepared to put them away within the closet in which he stood, and as he caught up with him Thor slammed the dressing room door closed. The loud smash of wood upon wall did nothing to affect Loki, who merely looked over his shoulder with a raised eyebrow and a small frown. It was when he reached up to put the clothing on a shelf – indifferent to Thor’s temper – that the strongest of the pair grabbed him by his wrist and swung him around. Thor shoved his husband against the wall and held tightly onto his shoulders.

 

“You were the one to flirt with her, Loki!” Thor shouted.

 

It seemed that this got from Loki a reaction at last. He pushed his hands hard against Thor’s bare chest and forced the other man back a step, but as Thor loomed over him – invading his personal space – he merely brushed down his clothes and glared darkly. Thor drew in a deep breath and wrung his hands in the air, before he settled on an otherwise violent gesture and a point of his finger, as if he sought to warn Loki against any more childish antics or from ignoring him.

 

“You are _my_ husband, Loki!”

 

“I never thought that you were a hypocrite,” Loki said. “Tell me, Thor, how it can be acceptable for you to impregnate a mortal woman, but not for me to innocently flirt with her when my husband is present? Is the great and wonderful Thor is jealous?”

 

“I have every right to be jealous when my husband acts so flirtatious with another!”

 

“Is that right? Well, I wonder how thatfeels.”

 

Thor took a step back and glared at Loki. The younger man seemed lost in his thoughts, and his eyes narrowed up at Thor with such venom that it was hard to believe that his actions had been anything but revenge. It was clear by the slight smirk upon his lips and the way he watched Thor so intently, because he wanted to savour Thor’s reaction and enjoy this moment for what it was. That he would go to such lengths, rather than speak honestly of his emotions, was frustrating to say the least.

 

It was difficult to remain calm in the face of such a display, especially when he knew that had Loki simply stated his feelings that he would have changed his behaviour to accommodate his husband, but Loki had not given him that chance. Thor was sure that this same jealousy was what caused him to lash out verbally, for it was no secret that Loki had always craved what was once his attention, and it was perhaps that same need that had caused him to compete with Jane, because Loki had perceived her as a threat. Thor wanted nothing more than to shout at his husband, but to do so would only justify his ridiculous beliefs. He strove to stay patient.

 

“If you were jealous, Loki, you have only need tell me!”

 

“And have you running to Mother or gossiping with your friends? I think not. I would rather endure my wretched circumstances than to have them talked about in some tawdry tavern, thank you very much.”

 

“So you _are_ jealous?”

 

The smirk on Loki’s face was quickly washed away and replaced by a dark expression that had no equal, and the silence in the air grew heavy and awkward. He eventually turned away and began to busy himself about the closet. It seemed that he took great offence to Thor’s clothes and armour, both scattered about in a haphazard manner, and began to collect the items with violent snatches and half-muttered curses.

 

“It seems that you are in a gaming mood,” Loki snapped. “I am in no mood to talk about such things. I am sick of tidying up after your messes, Thor. First I am to talk to your father, then I am to talk to Jane Foster, and now I am to collect your belongings like a common servant! I did not agree to this!”

 

“You agreed to marriage, Loki, and this is what marriage is! We are now a team and as such we need to talk to one another, not to run from our problems or play childish games to get revenge for a perceived slight!”

 

“I am ready to retire to bed,” Loki said coldly. “There was a time when I had been expected to stand by your side and advise you as you ruled our realm, and if your version of marriage is to be believed then we are to return to that dream and forget reality. I am willing to talk to you, to advise you, and even – if need be – to bear you an heir, but I will _not_ hand my heart to you on a platter! We are not in love, and even if we were I would be a fool to expose myself to you! I am not discussing this, Thor!”

 

“Loki? _Loki -_!”

 

Thor let out a cry of frustration as Loki walked away. He smashed his fist upon the table within the closet, which caused it to topple over with a loud crash and spill its contents on the floor, and – as the helmets and accessories clattered about – Thor tried to slow his breath. It would fall to the servants to clean the mess, but he overlooked the unfairness in his rage. He watched Loki enter the bedroom and followed.

 

The younger man had already thrown back the furs of the bed to climb in, so that his body was hidden out of view with only his hair on display. He had chosen to lie on his side so that his back was to Thor, something that only annoyed Thor further in his need to talk, but he refused to allow himself to grow agitated by Loki’s childishness. He looked about the room for something to distract himself, but all about him were constant reminders of Loki and their marriage, so that he could not escape the other’s presence even if he tried. Loki had been respectful, but – despite the perfect mix of both their possessions – his husband’s personality stood out about the room.

 

Their room was less bare than it had been before Loki had moved in, with a collection of books occupying the bedside table beside the younger man, and a table that now occupied a far corner with a large water basin and mirror positioned above. The new pieces of furniture – including a chest at the foot of the bed and strange ornaments that seemed more arcane than aesthetic – did not bother Thor, but the furs were not to his taste at all and he missed the old whites and creams that had occupied his room.

 

“You were not raised in a barn, Thor,” Loki snapped. “Kindly close the door.”

 

Thor let out a harsh exhale of breath and slammed the closet door shut. He thought that he saw a flinch from Loki, but it was impossible to be certain with his husband buried underneath layers of fur. It was then that he realised where he had seen the fur throw before; it had been a birthday gift to Loki many years ago, one that Loki had accepted gracefully and yet had seemed to feel indifferent. He hadn’t thought that it had any meaning to the younger man, but clearly he had been wrong.

 

He walked into the room and past a _chaise longue_ , where he spotted his cloak lying across it. It made him smile, for he remembered as children when Loki would have bad dreams, and together they would lie together beneath Thor’s cloak and tell stories late into the night, and only when Loki began to smile would he fall back to sleep. He missed how a few kind words would put everything right, and a small part of him felt tempted to drape the cloak across the bed as a goodwill gesture, a sign that he cherished those memories of the past. He shook his head and made his way to the bed.

 

“Do you remember when we were children?” Thor asked.

 

“I remember you putting out the fire that I used to work my magic,” Loki mumbled. “I also remember you stealing the blankets and furs in the night, and you convincing me that ‘real’ men trained with real swords during training. You were a nuisance.”

 

“Is that right?”

 

Thor laughed as he walked around the bed. He climbed into it with a heavy throw of his body and lay down upon his right side, and as the bed jostled it caused Loki to open his eyes for a brief second and glare at Thor. Thor pushed his furs down to his waist, with his left arm over them lazily and his right tucked underneath his head, and meanwhile Loki mumbled harsh curses and pulled his side of the furs up to his chin.

 

“I remember that Mother scolded me most cruelly for that,” Thor said warmly. “You cut your arm during the fight. I would not be surprised if that contributed to why she trained you personally, but you did not seem to mind, besides you forget the torments that you caused me! There was the time that you put manure in my helmet, and the time that you said you were to run away and yet hid in my room.”

 

“Ah, that. It was the one place you would never look.”

 

“True, Father and I searched for you for nearly an entire day! The entire palace was in a panic, and then I returned to my room to change only to find you asleep in my bed and perfectly at peace! I should have known then what trouble you would cause. It is strange, for even now you look so peaceful.”

 

Loki opened his eyes at that remark. It seemed that there was a small blush to his cheeks, enough that it showed a vulnerable side that his husband was loath to show, and the way he narrowed his gaze made him appear more sleepy than fearsome. He let out a hiss of breath and pushed the fur down just enough to free his face and reveal his expression, and Thor – just inches from him – smiled and enjoyed the small intimacy.

 

He wanted to reach out to Loki, to hold him and reassure him, but Loki was not one to appreciate any kind of physical contact around the bed area. It was too intimate, especially given their new status, and there was still too much bitterness between them for it to be comfortable, but it was something that they would inevitably have to face should Loki agree to bear an heir. The act of conception would be far worse than platonic touches or embraces. It would require far more trust and vulnerability . . .

 

“You are staring, Thor.”

 

“I am sorry,” Thor said sadly. “It is simply reassuring to watch you on the verge of sleep, it reminds me of what I have and could have lost. You appear so much like the man I once knew, so that I am sure he is still in there . . . I do not wish to lose you.”

 

“Do you have any idea how sinister that sounds? I do not wish you watching me as I sleep, Thor. It is not natural, nor is it endearing.”

 

Loki sneered and rolled his eyes. It was enough for Thor to tighten his grasp upon the fur at his waist and send a dark glare to his husband, but he knew that he could not begrudge Loki his disrespect. He knew that his night with Jane had only been meant as one final goodbye, but with a child on the way it would be clear that Loki would be suspicious of more, and if Thor could take it back then he would. That did not make Loki’s tantrums were any less infuriating, but he could understand them.

 

“You know that your relationship would never have worked,” Loki snapped.

 

Thor narrowed his gaze and looked coldly to his husband. The other man merely gave a flick of his wrist beneath the furs and turned the lighting down with his magic, which meant that Thor nearly missed the brief look of regret that passed over Loki. It was difficult to see in the absolute darkness of the room, more so when his eyes had very little time to adjust, but he felt how Loki edged forward to be closer to him.

 

It was obvious that Loki had not yet forgiven him, but Thor hoped that his husband had moved closer out of memories from the past, because there was nothing more than he wanted than to have the Loki he knew back. He was still furious with his husband, but at that moment his anger was replaced by the slight that this man – the one he had sworn his life to – would hurt him so deeply as to trivialise his feelings for Jane and all they had. He knew that he could not be with Jane, but his feelings for her had been strong, and so had things been different then they may have been together.

 

“I do not wish to sleep angry,” Thor said firmly. “I ask that you do not antagonise me by reducing my relationship with Jane to trivial insults. I have apologised to you over and over for what I have done, but I will not have you offend our love!”

 

“Your love?” Loki asked patiently. “Tell me, Thor, what would you have done had I not been in this picture of yours? What if I had remained in my cell or died on some distant planet, what then? You would have had two choices: join her on Midgard or bring her to Asgard. If you envision either ending happily, you are far more foolish a man than I have ever thought. It would have ended in tragedy . . .

 

“Let us say that you had sacrificed your realm and home, for we know for a fact that your father would have disowned you had you chosen to marry Jane Foster, and then that you joined her on Earth. Can you truly say that you would not have resented the loss of your people, your friends, or your very family? Even if you did not crave the culture with which you had grown, you would have been forced to watch her grow old . . . you would watch her die, whilst you yourself remained healthy and young. Then what? You would have to spend the next four thousand years alone. Alone, Thor!

 

“It would not be much better if she were to stay here. Do you think that she would be content to spend her years birthing your heirs, and forever unable to do anything aside from warm your bed and wait for you to arrive home from battle? She could not fight alongside you. She would also be unable to continue her studies, and were she to study our sciences then she would find herself no more than a child amongst adults. How long until she became bored? How would she occupy her days in your absence?”

 

“You have said enough, Loki.”

 

“I do not think that I have. You began this relationship with a mere crush; you were attracted to a woman that you had known for a mere _three days_ , and you gave no consideration to what would become of you both in the long-run! You were never meant to be together, and – even now you have impregnated her – you have achieved _nothing_. You have a child you will see only periodically and a mistress who will move on and likely marry someone else.”

 

Thor threw himself onto his back. He gazed up at the darkened ceiling with eyes filled with venom, but the truth was that he knew his husband spoke sense. It was simply hurtful to hear such harsh truths spoken so plainly, especially when there was now a child involved that he would likely rarely see, and there was still a part of him that hoped for romance with Jane, even if that were likely the worst thing for all involved.

 

It was a foolish dream, one that he would never chase, but to be reminded of all that he had lost was still a painful thing. He loved Loki dearly, and perhaps his mother’s ideas about their relationship would have came about far easier were things different, but the truth was that as greatly as he loved Loki that he still had feelings for Jane. It was impossible to cease his feelings simply as he was told to do so. He was no longer in love with her, no longer did he wish to spend a lifetime with her, but he did love her and their child. It was not that he loved Loki any less – as his husband believed – but simply that he held a duty to the other, along with the eternal question of ‘what if’.

 

“Is there a point to this?” Thor snapped. “Do you just wish for me to say that I was wrong to have loved her? Father wishes that I had chosen Sif, whereas Mother hopes that you and I will find love . . . what do you wish, Loki? Tell me that!”

 

“I wish to know what it is that you think of our marriage.”

 

“I do not understand.”

 

Thor rolled back to face Loki and spread out upon the bed. It was something that Loki objected to, for he complained that his husband took up too much space and often jostled him in his sleep, but for now he did not say a word. Thor felt his bare foot brush against Loki’s leg and pulled it back, but not before the other kicked him hard for having made such contact, no matter how innocent that it had been intended. It felt more like sibling rivalry than it ought, a fact that caused him some discomfort.

 

“I will not be so sentimental as to ask whether you are in love with me,” said Loki. “I think it clear that romantic love was not the motive behind this marriage, but it would be nice to imagine that there is some love, some _respect_. I just did not expect you – out of everyone – to be the one to betray me. I have spent my life living off scraps of your glory and waiting for some attention, and yet again I am forgotten and neglected.

 

“There was nothingthat you could not have gotten within our marriage, but you still turned to her. You then add insult to injury by _lying_ to me, by making me believe that there was some continuous affair being conducted, and even now you turn your mind to her when there are more important issues between us! You ask if I am jealous, but perhaps the bigger question is why that matters? You act jealous of me and demand so much of me, but then you do things like this to make me believe that I do not matter to you in the slightest! You either are committed to this relationship or you are not!”

 

Thor understood his husband’s concerns, that much he could not fault him for, but it seemed that the younger man had warped the version of events to suit his perception. It was hard to say whether Loki truly believed that Thor could have received from him what he had from Jane, just as it was still unclear whether he believed Thor had thrown him from the bridge that day, but one thing was certain: he felt slighted.

 

He reached out the short distance to touch Loki. He wrapped his hand around the other’s neck gently, brushing his husband’s cheek with his thumb, and he felt Loki lean towards the touch with a surprising vulnerability. It was moments like these that reminded Thor that somewhere deep inside Loki was the man he had once known, and that perhaps with each day that man began to come back to him. He could not make the same mistakes he had before. He would not allow Loki’s jealousy and insecurity to consume him as they had, instead he would find a way to reassure him.

 

It was difficult to stay calm when the matter with Jane should have taken priority, but – just as the issue of an heir had been the fault of Loki – the issue of Jane’s condition was the fault of no one but Thor, and so he could not blame his husband for holding a different set of priorities. He was entitled to know what this marriage meant to Thor, just as much as Thor wished to know the feelings of Loki. There would be no way to make this conversation any easier for either of them.

 

“Loki, there is nothing that I am committed to more,” Thor said firmly. “I love Jane, of that I can not deny, but I shall always love you more than any other. Do you truly think that because I love another than it means I no longer hold love for you? I cannot live my life in fear that any friendship I hold will cast you into a jealous rage!”

 

“Are you still in love with her?”

 

“No. I love her, for she is the mother of my child and a woman that I respect, but I am not in love with her. My feelings of romance will not cease overnight, but it is as you say: an infatuation. Loki, you must understand that I entered into this marriage knowing that I would make a vow! I promised that I would be with no other and I am a man of my word. It is my hope that one day our relationship will grow strong and perhaps even true love will come, but you must believe me . . . I will not hurt you.”

 

“You came to my cell as a brother, whilst _knowing_ that we were to be engaged, even as I lay in complete ignorance of future events. You made me believe that things may return as they once were, only for the Allfather to tell me of our marriage, to give me two days to make a choice . . . I spent a week _desperate_ to talk to you, _preparing_ for our ceremony, but you are busy emptying your seed into the first woman you see!”

 

“I am truly sorry, Loki! I did not realise you would see it as a betrayal.”

 

Thor withdrew his hand. He thought that he could see Loki glare slightly, as a small flinch struck him about the eyes, and it was then that he realised that his husband would likely see such a withdrawal as a form of rejection. He wondered if Loki had always been this sensitive. Could it be that Thor had only noticed this now, for the first time in over a thousand years? He wondered at what point Loki had felt so insecure – so worthless in comparison – that any form of distance would be seen as a form of complete rejection. He reached out to take a hold of Loki’s hands instead.

 

They felt cold to the touch, but then Loki had always been one for cold hands and cold feet, especially at night. It had been torture as children, when Loki would use that to his advantage to wake Thor up with a sudden shock, or to simply use the other’s body to warm his own, and it had led to many fights when they were young enough to still require to share a room. Thor smiled at the memories and spoke kindly.

 

“If our betrothal had been borne out of romance,” Thor explained, “I would never have lain with her. We were to enter a political union; until we took our vows then I saw no duty to remain chaste, for there were no such expectations. I am a man of honour. It is why I did not lie with any other woman after the Bifrost closed, because I already had a commitment to Jane, and it is why I felt obliged to end my relationship with Jane before I entered into one with you. It is over between Jane and I, I swear.”

 

“You do not see a betrothal as something sacred? Surely Mother taught you about the sanctity of marriage, the importance of reciting our vows, or about the _promise_ two people make when they agree to enter into a marriage? I had assumed that when you agreed to marry me that you would not lie with any other, for a promise to marry is a promise to be faithful.”

 

“You have expressed no such views as these before! How was I to know?”

 

“We were raised the same way, Thor!”

 

Thor clenched Loki’s hands and closed his eyes. He loathed how his husband expected him to know his mind, especially when Loki had always been so emotionally closed. He reopened his eyes and saw Loki glare at him through the darkness, enough that he wondered if he meant what he said or only claimed to believe it to manipulate Thor, for it had been difficult to distinguish between the two since his banishment. He wanted to be honest with Loki, but it was difficult when the other man spent so much time hiding his feelings out of fear of rejection.

 

“We were raised virtually as two only children by two single parents!” Thor gripped tighter and inched closer to Loki. “It is no secret that Mother found bonding with you far easier than with me, or that my father related more to me than he could to you, but you would hold me at fault for their favouritism? They loved us equally, but that did not mean they did not treat us differently . . . 

 

“You cannot deny, Loki, that we were separated from an early age. Mother trained you and taught you almost exclusively, whereas Father spent his time raising me and educating me. I do not know what Mother taught you about love or marriage, or what morals she taught you regarding such intimate acts, but my father taught me that there is no shame in a young man sowing his seed when he has no commitments, and indeed I did not when I acted as I did. If I had known that you felt differently, I would have acted differently, to this I swear!”

 

He raised Loki’s hands to his lips and placed a chaste kiss upon them. The other man allowed this with surprising patience, and when Thor lowered their hands he found that Loki did not pull away, which allowed their hands to lie together upon the sheets of the bed. Thor realised that this was almost the same as handholding, and he could not remember lying with another like this so respectfully. It felt a far more intimate act than it should, which caused him to pull his hands away and roll onto his back.

 

“I also promise that we shall not play favourites with our children,” Thor said kindly, “nor raise them separately as we once were, but we shall raise them together as a family. Father and Mother loved us unconditionally, but they made mistakes that I do not wish to repeat. I do not want any children of mine to feel as you once did.”

 

“You talk of _children_? I have not yet borne an heir, already you talk of a spare.”

 

“You were never a spare, Loki!”

 

Loki scoffed loudly at this. He pulled himself up into a sitting position and turned cross-legged to face Thor directly, whilst the blond refused to break his gaze upon the ceiling or stop the angered pout upon his lips. He could see the way that the furs fell about Loki as he sat, so that they now only covered part of his right leg and waist, and he could also see the way that his green sleeping-tunic had become ruffled and the top button had fallen loose, so Loki’s left shoulder now lay on view.

 

Thor allowed his eyes to fall on that spot for a brief second, only to see Loki quickly adjust his clothing. It was difficult to see why he was offended, whether it was from being seen in any state less than perfect or whether it was the fact that he wished for Thor to look at him only platonically, but he was offended nonetheless. He leaned forward so that his long hair shielded his face in the dark, which left his expression almost unreadable, and he seemed to seek to intimidate Thor by the way he leaned into his personal space and blocked his line of sight.

 

“What about now?” Loki snapped. “What am I now?”

 

“Now you are my husband and my equal.”

 

“Oh, am I _really_? You have not even _thought_ about what being married will mean for my reputation, let alone to bear you a child. I have spent my life practising magic, I have learned to cast illusions and transform substances, and yet – despite doing what no other can – I am forever the ‘trickster’. Tell me, how often have I saved your life?”

 

“I do not see what this has to do with the discussion at hand.”

 

“Then let me educate you, _Husband_ ,” Loki spat coldly. “Despite my talents, despite the years spent gaining expertise and perfecting my art, I am reduced to _mockery_ on a daily basis. You do not know what it is like to be mocked for achieving something that no other can do, and even when I fight – when I win with my weapons and fists – it is _still_ not good enough! Mother taught me to fight, but what I have learned is too feminine, and that my fighting style mirrors hers is apparently something I should be ashamed. Oh, but _now_ I am to bear you an heir! It is the final nail in the coffin!

 

“It was one thing to jest about such things to tease your mistress, but to be actually expected to _go through_ with such a thing . . . this is not your Midgard, Thor, or have you failed to notice that small fact? This is Asgard. If I am _known_ to have lain with you and to have played the part of a woman, I shall be considered less than I am now. It shall be confirmation of the bitter rumours and sharp gibes that were only quelled by the fact I was a prince. I shall be nothing but a _joke_. I will be _less_ than a woman!”

 

Thor could not deny the truth behind Loki’s words. It would certainly mark his husband in a negative light were he to agree to carry a child, but he would still hold the respect of both Thor and Frigga, although it was doubtable that Loki would see that as some form of consolation. The simple truth was that he would be seen as less of a man for submitting in such a way, for bearing an heir as he would, and when he had spent a lifetime fighting such preconceptions this would hurt him greatly.

 

Lady Sif had spent many years fighting to try to prove that a woman could be like a man in strength, and she fought to prove that her body did not hold her back from participating in battle or from achieving what her comrades could. She had inspired many women and instigated some small changes. She fought for the right to be seen _as a man_ ; it was not the same thing as fighting to be _equal_ to a man, and in the same way Loki would be seen as a woman were he to submit to another man. He would be seen to be worth less than a woman, for unlike a woman such a thing would be a conscious choice for him to make, and he would endure mockery for that choice.

 

Thor reached up a hand to touch upon Loki’s face, but the younger man swatted his hand away and crawled back underneath the furs, where he lay awkwardly on his back. The silence between them was made worse by the fact that there was little Thor could say to put his husband’s mind to rest. He knew that words to assure him that this marriage could set an example to many would mean nothing to Loki, who cared only for his reputation and freedom, and so such words would only ring false.

           

“You will still be respected as the prince consort,” Thor said.

 

Thor rolled onto his side. It seemed that no sooner had he done so that Loki followed suit, so that they were a few inches from each other. The conversation had exposed more fears than Loki would have wanted, and – whilst Thor had wanted to see this side to his husband – he felt helpless to help him. He wondered if the cost of his freedom were too high for Loki to pay, because they had come too far to give up now, and yet neither were willing to provide an heir simply to secure their marriage.

 

“You know that you have a week to decide,” Thor continued. “We can discuss it together if you wish, but no one shall think any less of you should you decide that this is not something that you can do. You shall always have my respect.”

 

“Is that so? Would I have that respect when swollen with child?”

 

“You would be doing something that I cannot, and something that I would not do even were I able. How could I not respect such strength of character and strength of body? You would be the bearer of my child and heir, for that reason alone I would be indebted to you, and above all else you would still be Loki Laufeyson.”

 

Loki closed his eyes gently. He seemed to be on the verge of sleep, although Thor knew well that the younger man was only feigning tiredness to escape continuing an uncomfortable conversation. Thor tried to refrain from shaking his husband or shouting at him, simply for the fact that a fight so late would only lead to a sleepless night, instead he waited for Loki to decide as to whether the conversation was at an end or not. It seemed that Loki still had something left to say, however.

 

“I will think about it,” Loki conceded.

 

“I would also add that it was your jest that brought us to this point.”

 

“Excellent,” Loki snapped, “blame _me_ for this mess, thatwill endear me to the idea of bearing _your_ spawn. Perhaps you would like to try bragging about your past exploits or insulting my appearance, I am sure then that then I shall swoon at your feet.”

 

“Your sarcasm does not exactly endear me to you either.”

 

“Good, then let me sleep.”

 

Thor glared at Loki and watched him as he tried to sleep. It was difficult not to admire how peaceful he looked, but that only served to annoy him more when that same face could spout such cruel words. It was Thor’s fault for having brought Jane to their realm, but that Loki could treat Thor in such a manner was frustrating when he had been the one to plant the idea in the Allfather’s mind. It was difficult to refrain from reaching out to touch Loki, but he knew the other man would not appreciate it.

 

“I still ask that you do not watch me sleep,” Loki snapped. “Must I ask you again?”

 

“I apologise, Husband,” Thor said with a smile. “Goodnight.”

 

“Goodnight, Thor.”

 


	12. Chapter 12

# Chapter Twelve

****

“I fear that this is my fault.”

 

Thor’s words hung heavy in the air.

 

It was rare for Sif to see her friend so serious and so despondent, and the last time that he had appeared in such a mood was the time when he mourned for his relationship with Jane, the time when his brother lay locked within the cells, and the time when he had felt as if he had lost everything. She remembered how his smile – no matter how serene – had seemed false and insincere, how it had caused more worry than it had eased, and how she had feared that the Thor she had known had been lost.

 

That was the Thor that sat before her now. It was a man that was lost to emotions that he would rather not bear, but one that strove to maintain his façade in order to ease concerns and act the part of a prince. She admired the maturity that he displayed, for he merely sat and thought to himself, and there was no violent display of emotion or a hastily thought plan to reassert his dominance, instead there was simply a man that had accepted his fate and planned to make the best of it. It was possible that Loki had influenced him for the better, or perhaps that Thor had learned through observation that rash spontaneity was not the best course of action, but either way he had matured.

 

“You fear too much,” Fandral said. “The only person at fault here is Loki.”

 

“Come now!” Volstagg replied. “I will grant you that he should think more before he speaks, but he only acted as any other would. I will tell you, my wife would have my head were I to flirt with another, let alone to conduct an affair as our friend has done!”

 

“It was hardly an affair when they were not even yet married!”

 

Volstagg let out a hearty laugh and leaned back in his chair. He rested his arms on either side of the wooden armrests, as his stomach heaved up and down with his laughter, and Sif could see his amusement reflected in his eyes. The smile on his lips was contagious, so that Sif smiled in turn and found the atmosphere lighter, but her companions did not share in that humour. She could understand Thor’s depression and the anxiety of Fandral, but the darkness of their mood required a break that only mead and laughter could bring. The empty tavern was filled with light from the arched walls that opened up onto a terraced area, the tables – save for theirs – had their chairs stacked on their surfaces.

 

It was true that the mead tasted bitter under their current circumstances, but the fact that the marriage had not been annulled was cause enough to excuse what had been intended as a small celebration between friends. They had wanted to know if Jane had arrived safely in Midgard, how often Thor intended to visit her, but instead the conversation had been stolen by his latest predicament: the need for an heir. It was something some looked forward to, but Thor himself appeared to have mixed feelings.

 

“You should know that not everyone feels the same way about fidelity as you do,” Volstagg said kindly. “It seems that our friend Loki is a greater romantic than we gave him credit! I suppose it comes from all that reading, there isn’t much time for romanticism on the battlefield, after all!”

 

“So because Loki considers it an affair then it becomes so?”

 

“Why not? That is what marriage is! I never question my wife when she says something I know to be contrary to fact, if she says the sky is green then green it is! I only argue if it’s something important.”

 

Fandral scoffed and draped his arm over the back of his chair. He sat somewhat separate to the group at the far end of the table, with his seat at one corner and Hogun sat at the other, and such a distance – whilst not uncommon – did lead for a more difficult conversation. Thor sat centre of the table, with his arms rested on the wooden surface, whereas Sif sat opposite and Volstagg sat at the head of the table at the opposite end. The table itself was practically bare save for their drinks. Fandral shook his head and downed a considerable amount of mead.

 

“I still maintain that there is no excuse,” Fandral said firmly. “There was no real way for Thor to know what Loki’s thoughts were on the matter, and now – because he has spoken out of turn – they are committed to this path unless Loki chooses otherwise!”

 

“It sounds as if you are more upset that the decision falls upon Loki, rather than upset for the fate of our friend,” Volstagg continued. “Loki is merely a part of this!”

 

“A very _large_ part! Thor, have you considered this?”

 

Sif rolled her eyes at such an insinuation. It could be said that Thor had thought of very little else in this past week, that much was evident from his constant talks with both Loki and Jane. Their prince had barely been seen away from them during his search for an answer, and he had even consulted the books upon Jane’s departure and spent hours with his father in discussion, and yet here Fandral asked if he had given the matter thought. She looked darkly to her friend. Fandral, in turn, looked at her with disdain that she could mock his question.

 

“I have had a week to consider this,” Thor replied sadly. “Loki was right upon one thing: I betrayed him. I should have visited Jane before the engagement was made official, and I should have spoken to Loki about his expectations beforehand. It is too late now. I offended my husband and he reacted in kind, as such an heir is needed.”

 

“If we are playing the ‘what if’ game, then I would dare say you should not have visited her at all,” Fandral said. “Still, what is done is done, you were right earlier to say that we should think forward and not dwell on the past.”

 

“I thank you for your support.”

 

“In that vein, how long is left until Loki is to provide you with an answer? The week is nearly up, it seems almost cruel at this point for him to drag out his decision and leave you wondering about his intentions, and what of yourself? Have you decided whether you wish to create this heir? Will you not change your mind?”

 

“Fandral raises a fair point,” Sif interrupted, “have you chosen what to do?”

 

Thor appeared reluctant to answer. She moved the candlestick to one side, although the glass that surrounded the candle itself clattered quietly with the movement, and she then leaned upon the table also to look her friend firmly. It was difficult to catch his eye for it seemed that he was adamant on avoiding her gaze, but she could understand his need for evasion. The topic at hand was not a pleasant one, nor was it one with an easy solution, but they could not avoid it forever.

 

Thor eventually looked her in the eyes with apparent resignation, but in his face she saw hints of a greater sadness than she had anticipated. His body was mostly hidden from view by his leather-cape, which was long enough to fall to the floor even were he to stand, and the sleeves on his arms were so tight that they looked as uncomfortable as armour itself. His blue eyes fell upon her gently, before he looked at either side of the table to the rest of their friends. Hogun lowered his head along with his gaze, so that it seemed as if he knew something they did not.

 

“Aye,” Thor said solemnly, “Loki has decided to go through with this.”

 

“This is not Loki’s decision alone, Thor,” Sif pleaded.

 

“I knew my mind from the start. I will not change it now. I only asked that Loki consent knowing exactly what his decision entailed, and he has done so, as far as I am concerned that is all that is needed. My decision always rested upon his.”

 

Sif drew in a sharp breath. There could be no denying that this news had been expected, but there had always been the possibility that – since Jane’s departure – the Allfather would change his mind or even that Loki would refuse to create an heir. That Loki had chosen to do this was not a surprise, for it was common knowledge that he would do anything for his freedom, but that Thor had agreed so easily was something that Sif had not expected.

 

The pain of being an absent father had hurt Thor considerably, of this Sif was certain, because she had been there to witness the look of grief in his eyes as he said goodbye to Jane Foster and looked to her swelling stomach. It was difficult to see him then agree so readily to another child after the loss of the first, especially when that child would be shared with Loki, but she suspected that he would do anything to assure his husband’s freedom and please his father. It would be a decision that would change their entire realm. This would provide an heir, but a half-Jotun heir . . .

 

It was Hogun that broke the ensuing silence. He did not do much to signal that he wished to speak; he merely turned his head slightly to Thor and gave a very slight nod that may have easily been missed. Sif thought that she saw a hint of sadness in their friend’s gaze, but with a man so stoic it was difficult to judge his reaction to such news, and yet when he spoke his tone was both kind and patient. She doubted that any other present could have spoken without emotion overcoming them.

 

“Do you know what this means?”

 

“I know well what this means,” Thor replied. “This was not an easy decision. I nearly changed my mind when the time came to confess my intent, but the truth is that I cannot abandon Loki to the dungeons! That is what will happen were this marriage to fall apart! He is slowly becoming more like the man that I once knew, but to turn my back on him now would be to destroy him completely. I cannot lose him again!”

 

“Think about what you are saying,” Fandral snapped. “You are agreeing to have a child with _Loki_ of all people! That he would agree to it is no surprise, but can you _honestly_ say that you are ready for this commitment? You made a mistake last time, but this time you have a choice, Thor. Do not make that mistake again!”

 

“My child is not a mistake!”

 

He thumped the table with his fist so hard that its contents shook. The mead spilled from the glasses of Sif and Hogun, whereas Fandral’s smashed completely from where it toppled over the edge, and the noise of it drew some glances from passers-by outside and of the tavern-owner that cleaned not too far out of earshot. Thor leaned back in his chair rather red-faced, his eyes somewhat out-of-focus as he gazed down at the table, and Sif could see that the stress of his situation had gotten to him.

 

“No one means to imply that your child is a mistake,” Sif said in an attempt to soothe, “but you acted rashly, Thor. You put your feelings before all reason and forethought, and because of that you caused instability to our realm and to your marriage.”

 

“I am aware of this. I would take it back if I could.”

 

“You know then that you lapsed in judgement in acting as you did, no matter how unconditionally you love this child or what a blessing it may be to its mother, but this time you have a chance to make an informed decision. This child between you and Loki will only come about should you both choose it, so all we ask is that you know your mind. Do you know what you are consenting to?”

 

Thor looked to Fandral and then to Volstagg. It was difficult to say what it was he searched for, perhaps validation of his decision, but it was rather disconcerting to see their friend for once in the minority of the group. They had followed him in almost every decision out of loyalty and respect, rarely did they question his choices, but today they did just that. They cared too much to see him hurt by acting rash as he had done before. It was a decision that needed deliberation.

 

He leaned forward and wrapped his hands around his glass, at which point Fandral called for another drink and Volstagg raised his glass high as if in a mock-toast, and Sif wondered whether their new plan was to ignore the problem in favour of inebriation. It was a common tactic of the Warriors Three, albeit with more serious dilemmas they would put their minds together and discuss things with a rare maturity, but this discussion called for a clear head. Sif could not help but take a drink also, desperate for some distraction. It was a matter of trusting Thor, but he had acted so self-sacrificing in the past that there was no guarantee he wouldn’t act so now.

 

“I have made up my mind,” Thor said sadly. “I spoke to Loki this morning.”

 

“So this is it?” Fandral asked. “You have decided to have a child with Loki? We will support you no matter what, Thor, but you were so _devastated_ to see Jane leave, knowing that your child went with her! Do you even have a plan what to do with the child you have, rather than planning for one that you do not?”

 

“Do you think me a fool? I have spent barely a moment away from Jane or Loki’s side, I have spoke of nothing else with either of them, and I have spent more hours than I can count with my father to discuss the issue. I have done nothing but plan!”

 

“So what did you decide?” Sif asked gently.

 

Thor drank deeply as if to try and forget the question. In the meanwhile Volstagg finished the last of his glass and then smashed its contents upon the floor, as he called out for another, and in an instant a young woman came to his side to present him with a fresh glass of mead. He seemed to be lost in the taste of the drink, oblivious to the pain of their friend, and Sif could not help but question what it was that he saw that they did not. It reminded her of their queen. She, too, often smiled on their dilemmas with an all-knowing eye, enough to leave the younger curious as to what she saw.

 

“I will bring Jane to our healers at her six-month mark,” Thor said in a low and serious tone. “It is at that point we can be certain of our child’s safety and mortality, and then that we can settle our plans with some finality. It is our wish that she will raise our child on Earth, whereas I will remain on Asgard with Loki, but I shall visit her as often as my schedule should allow. I will aim to visit every few months.”

 

“Do you not think that would _confuse_ the child?” Fandral interjected. “I understand that you wish to be a part of its life, but it would surely be better for Jane to raise the child alone or to remarry than to confuse the child with a part-time father.”

 

“You would rather the child think itself abandoned?” Sif snapped.

 

“There is never a good side to losing a child,” Volstagg said sadly, “but we must not push Thor into a decision that is not right for him. Our friend will spend every day of his life thinking of his little one, right until the child dies a grand old age for its people, and so he must do what he thinks is right for them both. You do not know what responsibilities a parent has until you become one, my friend! I know what runs through Thor’s head, but so long as he commits to a decision, they will both be fine.”

 

Sif knew what the other implied. Thor would either have to spend a lifetime without a single moment of contact with the child, or he would have to continue regular and scheduled contact until the day of its death, but either way he would not be able to half-commit to a choice. If he abandoned the child only to later return, or if he set up the expectation of a relationship only to cease contact, then it would do irrevocable damage to the child both mentally and emotionally. She had faith in their friend. Thor was not the type of man to shirk responsibility or to knowingly hurt others.

 

The morning had advanced so that outside the tavern doors – where the stone steps could be seen – she could see a steady movement of people go about their daily tasks. There was no fear of being interrupted or overheard, for Loki was forbidden from leaving the palace and had restrictions upon his magic, a restriction that prevented his use of illusion or his talent of projection. Still, she felt uneasy speaking in public.

 

“You need not fear,” Thor answered firmly. “If I commit myself to being a part of my child’s life, it will be a duty that I shall not take lightly. I will be there for them through thick and thin. I will not forget my responsibility.”

 

“You will be a good father, Thor,” Volstagg reassured.

 

“What of the child with Loki?” Fandral asked. “It will need a lot more than just a visit once every few months, which – I would add – still seems to me to be not enough time at all to form a real bond with a child. This is a lifelong commitment; it will change your entire life! Do you really know the first thing about raising a child?”

 

“Do _you_?” Sif snapped.

 

Fandral gave Sif a dark look. She did not let him intimidate her and so returned the look with equal force, which in turn seemed to irk him and caused him to harden his gaze further. It felt childish, but she had spent so much time with these men that she knew the importance of standing ground and holding one’s own when it came to conflict. It was the only way to win real respect from warriors and fighters.

 

Sif would admit that she was Fandral’s opposite in many ways, but they complemented each other perfectly and so they had learned to be patient with one another. Fandral was the sort to pull her back when she moved to act dangerously, just as she was the sort to shoot him down when he spoke out of turn, and together they kept each other in check. She objected to how Fandral had been quick to criticise, but she could not deny that he held a good point and a sincere concern, for – whilst Thor may have fathered a child – he would never be a real father to that child, whereas any child with Loki would require his constant attention. It would not be an easy decision.

 

It was then that Volstagg gave a heavy sigh and drank deeply from his glass. He slammed it down hard enough upon the table that it broke Sif’s gaze with Fandral and caused both to turn to him, but as she looked she saw that his usual smile had faded into something that she could not recognise. It was rare to see a deeper side to the larger man. He looked to Thor and Thor looked back with an almost broken curiosity.

 

“It is difficult indeed to raise a child,” Volstagg said sadly. “There are the nights when you wish to be alone with your spouse, only to hear screaming or crying or your name being called over and over for attention, and usually it is just over a nightmare or to show you something trivial. Then there are the times that they will refuse to eat or go to bed or to take a bath, testing your patience to breaking point . . .

 

“They will not listen to logic. They want your attention all the time, they will be fickle in whom they listen to and whom they obey, and they will constantly risk their health doing dangerous tasks! Oh, then there will come the day when you are to attend a grand ceremony, only to find that your child has painted your helmet pink and drawn horses over your cape! Your life will never be the same. You start to believe that you are losing your very identity as a person, and there is no escape either.”

 

“There,” Fandral said, “you see? I told you that –”

 

“Oh, but there is nothing better than when they take their first steps and its into your arms that they run! You will hold them so close to your chest that they will laugh sweetly, and to put them down will feel a sin! I swear, I have been so reluctant to let go that I will often sneak into their rooms at night just to watch them sleep and be sure that they are okay, and the first time that they call you ‘papa’ will make you cry with pride! Why, just yesterday my eldest drew the sweetest little picture of me . . . granted there were a lot of stink-lines, but I hung it in the kitchen for all to see nonetheless!

 

“There will always be tough times, but I would gladly endure every last one of them for even a moment with my family. It is a love that you cannot possibly begin to understand, to hope to ever feel, until you have a family of your own to love as unconditionally as the other parents around you. Suddenly you have great sympathy and respect for your parents and your parents’ parents, and nothing will ever look the same way to you again! It is a marvellous feeling.”

 

Sif smiled at the dreamlike look on her friend’s face. He was a good and admirable father, one filled with much love and worthy of respect, and he had spoken with such warmth that Sif found herself envying his position. It was not often that she found herself wishing for a family, but when Volstagg spoke as he did about his brood it brought about such feelings within her. It seemed that his words had an effect on all.

 

Thor wore a smile that reminded Sif of the friend that had once been so full of life, and for a moment she had thought him comforted by the words of reassurance. He looked into the drink that he nursed and lifted it to his lips, whilst Hogun acted similarly, and as they drank Fandral issued forth a sigh and threw himself back into his chair, with his glass now in his lap as he shook his head in despair. The tavern staff had begun to take down the chairs and place them under the tables, no longer able to keep the establishment private for their prince’s sake, not at the risk of profit.

 

“You weren’t supposed to romanticise this insane idea,” Fandral snapped.

 

“It was not my intent to romanticise anything,” Volstagg said with a laugh. “It is just a simple truth that having children is as equally exhausting as it is rewarding, but that I would not change it for all the food in the realm! I have seen men broken by the experience though. They did not have enough love and had far too little patience, and in the end the children suffered for it. It is no easy task.”

 

“I believe that I can love my children as you do,” Thor replied with a soft smile. “It is just such a heavy duty, my friend. I do not wish to enter into it lightly, but I am certain that I can love both my children as much as a father should; my only concern is that Loki does not feel the same way. I fear our child may be a means to an end to him.”

 

“You _are_ aware that you still need to create this child first?” Fandral asked.

 

“What are you saying, Fandral?”

 

Thor placed his glass upon the table and looked to Fandral. The expression on his face spoke of a man that was in no mood for humour, so that his smile had been all but eradicated and his blue eyes now held a stony appearance. It was clear to Sif that they would not cease their friendship over a minor disagreement, but the frustration that Thor felt was clear, and so some conflict would arise were they to pursue the topic in detail. Thor leaned forward and Fandral also leaned forward in mimicry of the other.

 

“I am saying,” said Fandral, “that lying with a man is not like lying with a woman.”

 

“You would know that how?” Sif scoffed.

 

“People talk,” Fandral replied casually. “Look, I am simply trying to tell you that you will have to – how do I word this politely? – _consummate_ the union in order to procure an heir. This is _Loki_ of all people! Do you think yourself capable of that?”

 

“I think that no concern of yours,” Thor said sternly. “I understand that you are worried for me and I thank you for that, but I will not discuss private matters publicly. I will not disrespect Loki in such a way! It is needless to say that I do not think it will be an issue, but I will discuss outside of my marriage, I ask that you respect that.”

 

“Well, if you are sure that is shan’t be an issue . . .”

 

It was clear that Thor would not tolerate further discussion. This was not a random conquest or a meaningless encounter, this was to be an act that would consummate the marriage between Thor and his husband, a husband that they all knew well and had spent years in sharing his company. If Thor were to discuss the issue in detail, he would be betraying Loki’s trust in a way that the other could not forgive.

 

Sif looked to Thor and saw that he appeared frustrated, with his eyes narrowed and his hands tense upon his glass. She feared that the glass may break under the pressure of his grip, or that he may walk away from them at any moment in order to remain calm, but his patience was strong and he sat with them despite his apparent frustrations. They would soon need to part ways in order to begin their daily duties and training sessions, but it was common knowledge that Loki had requested of the Allfather that Thor be exempt from all his duties for the next few days. It was now clear why.

 

“I just never thought that you had any interest towards men,” Fandral said.

 

“I believe that I said that I do not wish to discuss this.”

 

“We understand that, Thor,” Sif interrupted, “but this is a serious matter. It is not easy to lie with one that you hold no attraction to, especially when you are to be the one that is needed to . . . _instigate_ matters. Do not forget that you were also raised alongside Loki; this will only make matters worse, if you cannot separate your brotherly memories from the man that is now your husband.”

 

“What she means is,” Fandral continued, “will you _rise_ to the occasion?”

 

“Hold your tongue to our prince!”

 

Sif shot their friend a rather dark look. He merely raised his hands slightly and matched her gaze with equal coldness, and – whilst she could understand his need for answers – she found it difficult to condone his way of going about matters. Thor was not a man to respond well to confrontation or to being challenged, he would likely not stand for Fandral’s brutal honesty, and as such it would get them nowhere.

 

She knew that Thor had given the issue of an heir more thought, perhaps more so than any other person within the royal family or his circle of friends, and rightly so, but she could not help but fear that he had overestimated his ability to adjust the situation with such ease. He was a man of action. If he put his mind to something then he would face it with great determination, but it was that same dedication to duty and refusal to think forward that often led to many conflicts and problems during their adventures. It was not like Thor to think forward.

 

This was the man that had charged through the front gates of a palace to rescue Fandral from danger, and the prince that had invaded Jotunheim in order to correct a perceived slight, with neither incident containing a moment’s thought for the long-lasting consequences. Thor likely saw this as a challenge. He was the opposite to Loki, who had likely thought far ahead concerning the effects of bearing an heir and yet given little thought to the act of creating an heir.

 

“Thor,” Fandral began, “you are one of our closest friends and allies. We trust you unconditionally, so if you tell us that this will not be a mistake – that you will be able to go through with it – then we willsupport you, but do you know exactly what it is that you commit yourself to?”

 

“I am not the man that I once was! I know what shall be required of me, just as I know what my responsibilities will be, and I am willing to do what needs to be done. I am committed to this choice.”

 

“Then I wish you well . . . sincerely.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

Thor downed the last of his drink. The sound of the glass that smashed hard upon the table was enough to destroy the ensuing silence, but such a sound only reminded them of the company that they were about to lose and the difficult duty ahead of Thor. It was also clear that such an act would be expected within the next few days, but that it could come so soon caused Sif to feel great remorse for her friend, along with a tinge of jealousy that she could not fully suppress. This act would change everything.

 

“I must go,” Thor said sadly. “You will not think any less of me?”

 

“We could never think less of you!” Volstagg replied.

 

“You do what you think right,” Hogun said.

 

Thor gave a weak smile and nodded to each of his friends. It was a simple gesture to mark respect, but one that made Sif yearn to ask him to remain. The five of them would so often spar together when one felt down, or travel across the realms to cheer another up, and yet here they were so helpless to prevent Thor’s predicament. There was little they could do to settle such complex politics alone, and they could not interfere with the marriage of another.

 

Thor stood to his feet and leaned with his fists upon the table. It seemed that he had taken a moment to gather his thoughts as he looked down at the empty glass, and from the tavern door Sif could hear one or two men enter with laughter in the air and gossip in their words. It seemed that their time together was over. Sif would return to the training grounds to hone her swordsmanship, whereas Thor would likely return to Loki’s side to fulfil his duty to his husband and to his realm. She kept her eyes upon him as he bowed to them and left the tavern, whilst Fandral seemed to let out a deep breath and Volstagg laughed to himself as if he had heard a great joke.

 

Sif finished her drink quickly, whilst Volstagg spoke of inane things as if to no one but the air itself, and from the other corner of the table Fandral gave a heavy shake of his head and leaned forward. The tavern felt far warmer now that the day had progressed and people had begun to enter, but despite how the atmosphere lightened the worry still lingered. There was little else that could be said to ease the tension. 

 

“I can’t say I envy him at all,” Fandral said sadly.

 

“You made that much clear,” Sif snapped.

 

Hogun gave a small scoff from where he sat, whereas Volstagg raised his hand to signal the bar-staff to bring forth a new round of drinks, and it was almost as if nothing were wrong. It was something of a relief to hear such laughter, for it was clear that their more burly-built friend did not think the worst as they did; instead, he raised his glass high and spoke to them as he would in the midst of a great party.

 

“Do not worry!” Volstagg laughed. “Thor will be fine, but for now: let us drink!”


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This chapter contains heavily implied sexual acts, which are of dubious consent. 
> 
> There is nothing graphic or violent, but for those sensitive to issues of marital rape (which this may be considered) then this may be a chapter to be careful when reading.

# Chapter Thirteen

 

Loki knew what was required.

 

It was a simple fact that they needed an heir. It was something that they had come to terms with, and yet their resolution did not make the experience any easier for either of them. Loki doubted his ability to continue. He had no question about what was to occur, in fact the expectation of such an event hung heavy in the air, and yet he still could not bring himself to sit down upon the sheets and lay his body beneath the furs.

 

There would come a point when he could not delay any longer, for if he waited too long then he risked one of them changing their minds, and if that were to happen then their marriage would be meaningless; their sacrifices would all be for nought. Loki wished that this simple logic would have made the experience easier to submit to, but the feelings of shame and fear were not easy to erase. The bed itself would no longer be a safe place; it would be forever tainted with memories of what was to occur, and he would forever feel that violation whenever he entered it.

 

Thor sat upon the right-hand side of the bed.

 

Thor had sat there as Loki entered the bathroom to prepare, and he still sat there – in the exact same position – when Loki re-entered far later. He rested his forearms upon his knees and leaned forward; it was difficult to see his expression when his hair blocked his face from view, but Loki was certain that he saw a mournful frown upon the other’s brow. Thor sat undressed, save for a loose pair of trousers that hung low on his hips, and that disconcerted Loki. It reminded him of what was to come.

 

“You are certain, Husband?”

 

Loki clenched his hands upon his dressing gown. He fisted them so tightly that his nails began to dig deep into the palms of his hands, despite the hem of the green material providing an obstacle to his grip, and yet he couldn’t ease his hold even if he had wanted. He drew the gown tightly around his body, despite the sleeping-tunic and bottoms that he wore beneath. The need to keep hidden was one difficult to ignore.

 

“I have not changed my mind,” Loki said coldly.

 

Thor gave a sound not unlike a sigh. It sounded pained and spoke of an irresolvable conflict, but he seemed resigned to what was to come, and – as Thor sat back upon the bed and swung his legs underneath the furs – he cast a nervous look to Loki. It was rare to see the older prince nervous, but Loki found comfort that it showed that Thor had given consideration to what was to happen. Thor’s resolution was as enviable as it was infuriating. It was difficult to comprehend how determination could overcome such fears, but Thor kept his promises, and – although he was also conflicted – he hid his feelings out of a need to be strong for his husband and conform to his duty.

 

“You are also resigned to what is to happen?” Loki asked.

 

“I would not betray your trust,” Thor said solemnly. “I married you to protect you, if this is what is needed to do so then I will gladly submit to such a duty.”

 

“All this to avoid time spent in the dungeons . . .”

 

“Do you wish to return to them?”

 

Loki drew in a deep breath. The air was thick with incenses designed to work as an aphrodisiac, but the scent was hardly pleasing and felt almost suffocating in the enclosed space. It was likely that the claustrophobic feeling would only increase with the act itself, when the sweat would to add the smell and the heat would become stifling as Thor moved against him. Loki felt his throat burn as if he were to be sick.

 

He had never envisioned being intimate with Thor, but in the past week he had given it great thought and yet he never imagined it to be like this. He had hoped that the respect they now held for one another would grow naturally over time, that it would bloom into something with a semblance of romance or even love itself, and that then these acts – whilst not entirely natural – would feel less of a violation. He held affection for Thor, whilst the other loved him unconditionally in turn, but that was not enough to overcome their platonic feelings and to see each other in a sexualised light.

 

“You ask me a difficult question, Thor,” Loki admitted.

 

“I ask you a very simple question!”

 

Thor raised his leg and turned his body to face his husband directly. It was a casual pose that would have seemed natural were he clothed and lounging elsewhere, but – as he sat almost naked in their marital bed – instead it felt an intimidating and offensive position. He did not approve of how Thor could act as if nothing untoward were to happen, but a part of him saw in Thor’s face why he acted in such a manner.

 

It seemed that Thor felt fear. He appeared to cling to the casual out of a need to distance himself, for his eyes expressed a depth of emotion that Loki had forgotten the other capable of feeling. Thor’s bearded face had fallen into a serious and dark frown, with his eyes narrowed almost dangerously and coloured with a sheen of water that gave the impression of unshed tears, and Loki knew at once that he was not to be jested with, for one hint of humour or uncertainty on Loki’s part would be to end the union before it had even begun. Thor looked to him for an answer: for consent.

 

Loki drew in a deep breath and dropped his gown. It would only be needlessly in the way, and if he were to be honest then he had only used it as a means to distance himself from Thor further. He blamed Thor just as much as he blamed himself, for if his husband had trusted him from the start then Loki would have not have acted out, but it was too late to lay blame. He stood before the bed in his sleepwear, feeling more exposed in that instant than he had for the entirety of their marriage to date.

 

“You know what will happen if we refuse to do this?” Thor asked.

 

“Do not treat me as a child, Thor! So you are brave enough to face this with an unwavering conviction, _congratulations_ , but bear in mind that _you_ are not the one that is forced to submit _or_ the one that must carry a child for the foreseeable future. I know what we would sacrifice by refusal, but that does not make the task any easier!”

 

“You are not the only one forced into this, Loki!” Thor punched the bedding with a heavy fist. “I will not lose you again and nor will I watch you suffer alone imprisoned in a cold cell! This will keep you your freedom. You will be safe.”

 

“I know, I appreciate the sacrifice on your part . . . sincerely.”

 

“You are not capable of sincerity, Husband.”

 

It was clear that Thor sought to tease Loki, rather like all the times they had done in the past, and such a gentle act was more than welcomed on Loki’s part. It reminded him of the many pleasant memories that they shared together, that this was a man for which he held a great affection, but that also made the situation harder to bear, because – whilst their relationship may have evolved – it was too soon for this.

 

It was then that a silence descended upon them. It was true that Loki could not abide the thought of returning to the dungeons, for – even if he had use of his powers in his cell – he had been forced to endure a complete loss of privacy and a loss of all his freedoms. He would have preferred an execution. The books he had were no substitute for the feel of fresh air upon his face or the company of loved ones, and the illusion of his mother was not the same as to be able to hold her or to talk to her without fear of the illusion breaking. Now that he had a taste for freedom he could never return to imprisonment; it would drive him to insanity, of that he was certain.

 

“Loki, I need to know that you want this,” Thor said gently. “If you have any doubts then you must tell me now, for once this is done it cannot be undone. I trust you to tell me the truth, just this once . . . do you want this?”

 

“I want my freedom,” Loki said sadly. “Is that what you wish to hear?”

 

“Loki, I -!”

 

Loki silenced Thor with a dark look. He ignored the glare that Thor sent in response; the way that Thor leaned upon his side – with his head rested upon his fist – did little to ease the frustration that he felt. Loki cast his gaze to the bedside table to check that the oil was in place, and then threw back the furs on his side of the bed. He grabbed a pillow from the head of the bed and placed it in the centre, so that as he climbed onto the sheets the pillow rested just underneath his hips, enough to raise them so that it would make the act more comfortable. He lay down face-first and rested his arms underneath his chin, before he snatched back at the furs to cover his body. It was a comfort to be hidden as he was, even if he knew that it would not last long.

 

“You need not worry. I give you my full consent.”

 

“Loki, do not jest with me!” Thor slapped the bed firmly. “You would claim to consent and yet face away from me with the same breath? You lie there like the dead and are fully dressed! How do you expect me to act?”

 

“You do not need my face to create an heir,” Loki said coldly, “merely my behind. I would think that even a walking fashion _faux pas,_ such as yourself, would know that sleeping bottoms are easily lowered. I refuse to expose any more of my body than need be. This is not an act of making love, Thor! This is merely a physical act needed to create an heir, nothing more or less.”

 

“You are not making this any easier, Loki! If you wish to get the act over with as soon as possible, this is not the way to go about it! This childish rebellion against the act only serves to make it more difficult for me . . . you must know that!”

 

“I apologise, but my magic is restricted. How else would I hide my face?”

 

“Loki, you need not hide from me!”

 

Thor threw himself onto his back. The violent movement was enough to jostle Loki and disturb the furs of the bed, but when he turned his head to gaze at his husband he found his face difficult to read. Thor had great patience with Loki, so that even when they were children he had been very reluctant to give into Loki’s taunts, and even as adults he had been the one to try to remain calm in the face of Loki’s outbursts.

 

It seemed as if – finally – Thor found his patience worn thin. He pursed his lips and stared hard at the ceiling, and as the room grew darker with the setting sun it felt that so too did both their moods. Loki knew from experience that – whilst a bad mood could have its benefits – it was better to begin such acts without anger. Truthfully, he could not bring himself to make it any easier for Thor, because to make it easier would be to almost condone what was to come, and this was perhaps the only way he had to make his true feelings known. He did not wish for Thor to see him so exposed, not when there were no feelings behind the act other than obligation.

 

It was difficult to know that he had no choice. He either relented or found himself locked away once more, and – when he had already relinquished all control of his life – he had at least lived with the expectation that he would retain some control over his body. He moved his arms so that his forehead rested upon them out of the need to hide his face, because with so little control left he could not let Thor see the effect that it had upon him. He would not allow himself to suffer such humiliation.

 

“I do not wish to make love to an illusion of a person,” Thor said sternly. “I love you dearly, Loki, and so I will not disrespect you by pretending that you are someone else! You should not feel ashamed. There is no need for you to hide . . . not from me.”

 

“I was not raised like you, Thor,” Loki replied in a muffled voice. “Despite the reputation I may have on Earth, I am not a slave to my base desires. I was taught to respect the act of intimacy and share it only with those that have earned my respect, especially considering the sheer amount of trust that is involved in such acts, and if you expect me to show you my face –”

 

“I do not understand. How is trust involved with such an act?”

 

“You are lucky that I _can_ trust you,” snapped Loki, “else such a naïve question would cause me to change my mind. The fact remains: I will not kiss you nor look at you.”

 

“Loki, it is difficult to act under such pressure. It would be easier were you to treat me with some warmth, unless you intend to drag things out longer than need be? There is a time and place for your indifference and academic attitude, but this is not it!”

 

“I apologise, Thor, but if I am to respect that this is difficult for you, I would ask that you do the same in return. It is not an easy act for me to submit. I am to lose all self-respect and the respect of others, and I am to forfeit all rights to my body. Do you think that I enjoy giving myself to one that I have yet to love, to know that I am to be seen as an object of ridicule and worth less than a woman? You are a fool, if you do!”

 

Loki kept his head buried into his arms. The anger in his voice was clear in his tone, but his anger was not directed so much at Thor as their situation. It was difficult to stay calm when he knew that his reputation would be slain and his body would be held ransom to an unborn child, yet there was so other choice but to proceed forward, but he knew that this would be beyond Thor’s understanding. The cause of his husband’s anger stemmed from being forced into a situation that he had no control over, rather than a sense of violation. Loki nervously clenched his fists into the sheets.

 

He felt the bed dip and move as Thor moved to kneel beside him, and when Loki turned his head slightly he could see that the strings to Thor’s bottoms had come loose and the beginning of a blond trail could be seen. It was a sight that many may have appreciated, but it simply forced Loki to turn his gaze away again and hide his face, because to be reminded of what was to come was more than he could bear. He felt Thor reach out to rest his hands upon his shoulders, but it caused him to tense up.

 

“I am sorry, Loki, I truly am.”

 

“You are only sorry that it is me you are forced into this with.”

 

“Not at all,” Thor admitted sadly. “You are an attractive man, Loki, were we to have fallen in love, and were you to have consented, then I would have been honoured to have acted in this way with you. Do not speak ill of yourself.”

 

Thor began to knead his back. It was relaxing and gave him comfort, especially when the older man worked at his muscles and knots with a great talent that was enviable indeed, but then Thor had always been talented at such things. Loki was reminded of when they were younger, of how they would sit together in the family room as Thor demanded that Loki help ease his back after a long battle, or when Loki would childishly offer forth Thor his foot when reading for the other one to massage. It had been simple brotherly bonding before, but now it felt far more intimate.

 

“I will speak of myself as I wish,” Loki said. “This is hardly how I envisioned our marriage, and I thought that if such acts were to occur that they would do so naturally. I know that for you this may be as natural as breathing, but I am not like you.”

 

“This is not something you have done before?” Thor asked.

 

“You expect honesty from me?” Loki snapped. “I shall not give you numbers and details, if thatis the sort of thing you are expecting, but let us say that I am aware of what is to come. I do not live in ignorance.”

 

“So you have let another man _take_ you? Is _that_ what you are telling me?”

 

Loki felt the hands on his back still, albeit the thick thumbs dug painfully into his back and the grip around his shoulders felt rather tight, but overall it seemed that he gotten a reaction. It was possible that Thor felt protective of Loki, that the idea of someone treating Loki in such a womanly manner was too much for him to bear, but it felt more possessive than that. It seemed that Thor objected that someone had marked his husband before him.

 

“Loki, you must tell me if another has –”

 

“No, Thor. I have yet to take another and I have yet to be taken. Do not be so concerned, you will still be able to brag about such a claim to your friends, but make no mistake . . . _I am no blushing maiden_. I have done things that would make even _you_ go red with shame and flush with embarrassment. They are many things to be done with digits, tongues and objects.”

 

“Do not be so crude, Loki! I will not stand for it!”

 

“So you will take me and impregnate me,” Loki said coldly, “but you will not allow me to talk about such acts? How strange it is that you can discuss with your friends every sordid and bawdry detail about your little shags with random bints, yet your very _husband_ mentioning such acts disturbs you.”

 

“You _know_ why it disturbs me . . .”

 

“Do I?” Loki shook his head. “I wonder, Thor, what did you expect when you first dreamed of marriage? Did you dream of a strong warrior that would fight alongside you or a soft maiden untouched by any other? I know the mind of a warrior. The thing that you wish for in a conquest is _not_ what you wish of in a spouse. I am sorry to disappoint you, but I am sure that a _technical_ maidenhead is better than none.”

 

Thor removed his hands from Loki at once. It was almost as if he had been burned by the material on Loki’s back, so that he moved quickly and violently, and as he threw himself upon his back the furs moved with him. Loki disliked the way that they slid from his body, leaving his clothed form now somewhat exposed. The act forced him to raise his head and look to Thor to judge his reaction, which was difficult to gauge.

 

It was difficult to see in the darkness, but he appeared to be staring at the ceiling with a cold expression. Thor rested his hands on his stomach, the two hands interlinked lightly, and his leg was raised enough to give him a relaxed appearance. Loki had offended him. That much was clear by his silence and his pursed lips, but – even though Thor had not deserved such cold words – it was hard to feel sympathy towards him. Loki wanted to know what his husband expected from him, but to ask such questions would be to leave Loki vulnerable to the answers, and it was difficult to act as it was. If he were rejected at this stage then it would make consent impossible.

 

It was then that Thor rolled onto his side and reached out to stroke Loki’s hair. The gesture was filled with affection, and whilst Loki usually disliked such intimacy in bed – afraid of what it would mean – he allowed it for the simple reason that it was meant innocently, and because they both knew that worse was to come. It was a small comfort, but it was a comfort nonetheless. He almost missed the smile on Thor’s lips.

 

“You are still the perfect bride to me,” Thor conceded.

 

Loki immediately struck Thor. He raised his right hand away from under his head to knock away Thor’s gentle touch from his hair, and then drove a closed fist against the other’s chest. It knocked Thor back slightly and caused the blond to glare harshly at him, but it was hard to acknowledge his husband’s pain when he had been insulted so gravely. If were they to do this then Loki had to know that Thor saw him as an equal, not as a substitute for a woman. He could settle for no less.

 

“ _I am no woman_!”

 

“I know that!” Thor shouted. “Do not twist my words, Loki! I merely sought to say that you do not disappoint me. I do not care about your past, only for our future, and whom I expected I would marry is of no import! It is _you_ that I married! You are my husband and my equal, even if you refuse to see yourself in such a light!”

 

“Then what of your love for our child?” Loki snapped back, as he resumed his position. “I will remind you that you are the very man that swore to hunt down every last Jotun and kill them where they stood, the same man that would declare a war on Jotunheim to settle his grudge, and now – _now_ – you are creating life with a creature from the very race you claimed to despise! Do you think that you could love a half-Jotun? Will our child stand equal to any other Asgardian or beneaththem?”

 

“Never – _never_ – insult our child,” Thor said coldly. “I have learned that the actions of a few do not define the souls of the many. The Jotun race is not an evil one, but even if they were . . . our child will be born innocent. I will love them unconditionally and with all of my heart. Never doubt that.”

 

“I do not doubt that you would love this child, but can you honestly say that you would not resent it when its existence was forced upon you? Will you love it as much as your half-human offspring? I do not want my child to live in the shadows as I did.”

 

“Loki, if they are loved only half as much as you then they will be lucky indeed.”

 

“I never feltloved . . . ”

 

Thor rolled onto his back. He ran a hand over his face as if to express the exhaustion he felt, whilst Loki kept his head low and remained silent. The silence between them felt awkward and unpleasant, but Loki knew that there was nothing either could say to make their situation any easier. It would not help even if Loki were to be open with his emotions, for he knew that at the slightest sign of hesitance that Thor would not go through with what was required of them. It was then that Thor spoke, but when he did his voice was low and broken, so that it shook somewhere barely above a whisper.

 

“I do not think I can do this . . .”

 

Loki felt a cold sweat wash over him. The initial relief he felt was so brief that it was forgotten in an instant, instead replaced by a heavy sense of dread. They needed to act soon, without that act then there could be no heir and without an heir there could be no marriage. He turned his head and saw that Thor looked both serious and mournful. It was clear that Thor meant what he said, for even in the darkness of the room Loki could see that much, but they had sacrificed so much to stop so soon. It was true that neither of them had wished for this, and so Loki could understand the sorrow writ across his husband’s face, but at the same time he felt bitter towards Thor’s choice.

 

Loki lifted his right hand with uncertainty. He wanted to reach out to touch Thor, but to instigate such intimacy was a greater liberty than he had a right to assume, and to touch the other’s bare skin felt too much like an invitation for the act to come. He needed to comfort Thor, and perhaps himself with the same action, but he did not wish to leave himself vulnerable or to appear weak. His hand merely hovered for a long moment. There was a long pause before he let his hand fall to touch Thor.

 

“We have no choice,” Loki said sadly. “We must do this.”

 

The muscle of Thor’s chest was rather hard to the touch, yet smooth in a way that Loki had liked on his men, and there was not a trace of fat or rib anywhere underneath Loki’s palm. He enjoyed the warmth that he felt from Thor, but he felt grateful that he had chosen to wear his sleeping clothes to bed, for if he had felt Thor pressed against him – hot skin against his own – then it may have just broken him.

 

“I do not think I can act,” Thor asked. “I cannot violate your trust this way . . .”

 

“Thor, I -!” Loki traced a lazy pattern on the other’s skin. “You are not the only one that feels this way, but the fact is that we must do this. I will not hold you responsible for what happens, but if you back out now – if you cause me to lose my freedom – then I do not know that I canforgive you. Do not do this to me, Thor, _please_.”

 

“I wish to go through with this, Loki, I truly do, but you do not comprehend the pressure that I face! If I take you then I am to violate your true wishes, but if I do not take you then I am to effectively throw you in jail! Whatever I do, I am to hurt you!”

 

“Then let me do what needs must be done, let me help you to act.”

 

“What do you plan to do, Loki?”

 

“Do you trust me?”

 

The warning in Thor’s expression was clear, but without his full-use of magic then there was very little threat that Loki could pose. He had tricked his husband enough times that the older man knew better than to take Loki’s words at face value, and so he could not blame Thor for doubting him. He stroked Thor’s abdomen in light circles, before he allowed his hand to rest just above the waistband of his bottoms.

 

“I trust you enough,” Thor admitted.

 

“Then just accept what I am about to do.”

 

Loki drew in a sharp breath. The thought of touching Thor so intimately was one that was far from pleasant, because it was not an act of love or lust but merely an act of necessity and obligation. He could feel the way his digits tensed just above Thor’s stomach, and he could feel the roughness of the bottoms that just teased his smallest finger and the touch of fine hair beneath his fingertips, but those were touches that he had envisioned happening much later in their relationship.

 

This was an act of intimacy that he had thought would be shared, not inflicted, and what should have been a curious and gentle touch was instead filled with trepidation. Thor’s abdomen was hard under his hand, enough that Loki could tell that the other man was resisting the act and felt as tense as he did, but when Loki began to lower his hand – unable to put off the act for any longer – he felt the other man twitch and hiss sharply. Thor allowed the action, perhaps in knowledge of what Loki intended and in hope that it would help. He slipped his hand lower and only stopped when he found what it was that he searched for. They both seemed to freeze for a moment.

 

“Loki, you do not have to –”

 

“I know, Husband.”

 

Loki’s gestures were slow at first, but they seemed to have the needed effect. He could hear the hitch of his husband’s breath and felt the way that he moved with the touch, slowly it seemed that the object in his hand came to life, whilst as he looked to Thor he saw closed eyes and hands clenched so tightly that the veins in his arms stood out. Loki turned his gaze away to bury his face into the crook of his spare forearm, unable to watch what was happening or to face the act to come.

 

It took longer than it should for Thor to become fully ready, although Loki would readily admit that time seemed to be moving slower due to their reluctance, and it seemed that Thor struggled to overcome his feelings regarding what they were to do. Loki removed his hand and tried to ignore the slight moisture that lay on his thumb and forefinger; he lifted his head just enough to lie his arm back underneath it. He did not look to Thor. He did not wish to see the length that had now pushed his bottoms further down and left a tent underneath the furs, and nor did he wish to see what expression lay on his husband’s face out of fear of what he would see.

 

The bed shuffled as Thor moved above Loki. He could feel the pressure against the bedding as one knee fell either side of him, whilst the movement jostled his body. There followed a slight draught of air as the furs now fell to drape over Thor’s lower half and thus revealed their bodies to the room, and then came the feeling of his husband’s thick fingers lowering his sleeping bottoms: it exposed him.

 

Loki clenched his hands and pressed his forehead hard against his forearms. He knew that he was not _completely_ exposed, which was a small blessing, but despite the rest of his body being covered he knew that Thor could still see his buttocks and that he also looked to them for an imminent sexual act. He did not wish to be looked at in that way. He did not wish for that part of him to be seen at all, but to object now would be to ruin everything. He closed his eyes tightly shut.

 

“You prepared yourself fully?” Thor asked breathlessly.

 

“I did,” Loki replied. “There is oil on the nightstand. You would do well to thoroughly apply it to yourself regardless. I promise that it will make the act easier for us both. I added some herbs to it that will . . . let us say . . . _add_ to the experience.”

 

“I know better than to ask if you have used such an oil before, but -”

 

“Screw your jealousy and screw me instead!”

 

“ _Damn it_! You do not make this easier!”

 

It was then that Loki heard a soft splash beside him. He heard a few heavy sounds and felt a few drops of oil fall upon his shirt and behind, and then a sound rather like a slather that told him that Thor had made a mess of a simple task. It was to be expected of one that had only taken women until this point, but Loki believed that common sense would dictate not to dip one’s hand entirely in the oil and bring out what felt like a small puddle of the stuff in the process. It felt a waste.

 

“You are sure about this?” Thor asked.

 

“Positive.”

 

Thor did not waste time. He pushed forward fully and to the hilt, so that Loki was left with little time to adjust to the intrusion. It seemed – at the very least – that the other man had paused to allow Loki some time to accommodate and get used to the sensation, which was a small blessing, and at once he felt a hand firmly wrapped around his left hip and another dropped beside his head. Thor sought to brace himself.

 

Loki hated himself for having included the herbs as he had, for – as much as they would please Thor and speed the matter – they served to induce a reaction in him that he most certainly did not wish. He hated that he responded to an act that he did not want, that his body could betray him in such a way, and when Thor began to move he only made the matter worse for Loki. The pillow beneath his hips – there for comfort and ease – only angled Thor in a way that caused him to strike something of a nerve, and the violation felt worse than ever. He despised the feeling as he despised himself.

 

He clenched his jaw and grasped the sheets with his left hand. There was a cry that left his lips that left him feeling weak and far too vulnerable, and it struck him that Thor had complete control over the situation. He trusted Thor, but there was no doubt that the other could easily have hurt him or abused him had he wished, and to hand that level of control to another was painful indeed. He felt weak and used.

 

“Loki, you – _you must not clench so_.”

 

They were true words. It would help immensely to relax, to clench on instinct rather than out of tension and fear, but it was difficult advice to follow. Instead Loki drew in a staggered breath and shot out his right hand in search of Thor’s, where he found it with only a few fumbled grasps and touches. He did not care what his husband thought of him. He held tight onto the other and used him as something of an anchor, whilst Thor clenched his hand in turn so that they were effectively holding hands. The movements soon quickened and Loki let out a choked cry.

 

He had not realised that he had been crying until he felt his arm wet with tears, the painful sting in his eyes that would not fade, and he purposely kept his mouth closed and his head low, lest Thor notice his sobs and stop what he was doing. There was no question that his husband did not enjoy the act either, but he doubted that the other man felt as abused and polluted as Loki did in that moment. It was difficult to breathe through his silent sobbing, but he remained strong and refused to show any of his feelings to the other, even as he felt the grip upon his hand tighten. It seemed that the movements had picked up speed and the thrusts gained in strength.

 

“L- _Loki_.”

 

The hand upon his hip tightened enough that he could feel it bruise. Thor stilled and let out a strangled sound; it was one that surprised Loki, for he had always envisioned his husband to be the more vocal sort. The sensation that followed was one that Loki had not felt before, one that signified the end of the act, and so – as Thor made to pull away – Loki kicked up his legs and held Thor in place.

 

“Wait for it to pass,” Loki said. “Do not pull away now.”

 

It was a long moment before the tension finally left Thor’s body; his breathing returned somewhat to normal, whilst his hold on the sheets and Loki’s hip lessened, and – as Loki pulled his hand away from the other’s – he felt Thor collapse beside him. The furs moved with Thor and exposed the part of Loki’s body that he would have rather remained hidden. He made to reach down to pull up his bottoms, but his hand shook so much that he was forced to still it before he could move it.

 

“I am sorry, Loki,” Thor whispered.

 

“It is fine.”

 

Loki pulled the bottoms up and turned onto his right side, so that he looked away from Thor. He did not wish to look at the other man. There was a fear that the other would see the tear-stained face and take pity on him, a worse fear that perhaps Loki might see pleasure on his husband’s features, and both of those were too terrible to face. He pulled the furs around his waist and tried to ignore the ache to his behind.

 

It was then that Thor rolled also and reached out to drape his arm over Loki’s waist. The touch was tender, but from his movements it was clear that Thor wished to pull the younger man closer to him and hold him, a thought that Loki could not abide. He felt used and unclean. He did not wish to be touched, especially not by Thor. It may not have been a fault of his husband’s, but the very idea of being intimate with the one that had just used his body sickened him, as if he were condoning the act. Loki drew in a harsh breath, then pushed Thor’s hand away from him and climbed out of bed.

 

“Loki, are you well? I did not hurt you, did I?”

 

“No, I am not hurt. There is a slight ache, but that is to be expected.”

 

“Then where are you going?”

 

Loki reached down for his dressing gown and winced at the movement, but when he drew himself back up he merely felt thankful that night had finally fallen. Thor could not see his face or the tear-stains, which was the way that Loki wanted it as he stood with his back to the bed, and as he redressed himself he could hear the heavy sigh from his husband and the shuffling upon the bed. It sounded as if Thor were adjusting his clothing and covering himself from view.

 

“I am going to bathe,” Loki said coolly. “I may be a while.”

 

“I will wait up for you. You are sure that you are fine?”

 

“Are _you_ fine, Thor? I am not happy, no, but I am fine. Do not worry.”

 

“Very well, but I am sorry, Loki.”

 

“I know. I am sorry, too.”

 

Loki walked around the bed and kept his head angled away from Thor. He purposely ran a hand through his hair so that locks fell to obscure the side of his face, which effectively – in the dark – kept his expression hidden. He paced quickly to the bathroom, desperate to wash away the feelings of what had happened and the remains of his husband’s touch. He felt a surge of relief as he entered the large bathroom and pushed closed the door. He collapsed against it and then slid to the floor.

 

It did not take long for the tears to come.

 


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This chapter contains heavily implied self-injurious behaviour and discussion of implied rape.
> 
> This may be upsetting to those who find such sensitive topics to be triggering.

# Chapter Fourteen

 

“Open the door, Loki!”

 

Thor struck hard upon the doorframe. It splintered under the force, causing a large crack to appear upon the otherwise perfectly carved wood, and as Thor drew back his hand he could feel a small bruise form upon his skin. The pain came as something of a shock to him. It was not enough to cause him to cease in his action, but it was enough to cause him to draw in a deep breath and try to regain his patience.

 

He let go of his fist and spread his hand, before he raised it up and down as if deliberating whether to strike the frame again with an open palm. It took a long moment of thought, but eventually Thor settled for resting his hand gently upon the frame and allowed his fingers to curl as he did so, for there had been enough damage done to their bedroom without adding to it. It took all his strength not to break down the bathroom door. He did not enjoy this feeling of helplessness or this loss of control, and every moment that Loki hid himself away hurt him greatly.

 

“I mean it, Loki, you open this door!”

 

The silence within the bathroom disturbed Thor. It had been five days since their consummation, and – in all that time – Loki had not discussed the nightly acts between them even once. He would admit that it was a common occurrence for his husband to ignore him during moments of contemplation. Loki had always been the sort to easily get lost within the pages of a book, so that even the sound of a cough would cause him to grow testy and hide someplace else, but this was different. There were no books to occupy his mind, no scenery to occupy his senses, just a cold room.

 

Thor felt his heart race far quicker than it did even in battle, for even during times of war there had never been risk to the lives of his loved ones. He hated that Loki could make him feel this way, that he could not quite shake the old brotherly instincts or the new feelings of marital duty, and every moment that Loki refused to answer sent waves of fear through him. These were not the feelings of a true warrior. Thor was a fighter and as such he had been taught to cast aside fear, but that was perhaps the cause of his anger and nerves, for he did not know how to react when unable to fight.

 

Their bedroom had been in disarray when he had entered that afternoon, with the furniture upturned and books flung about the room, but nothing appeared broken to the naked eye. The bed itself had taken the worst of whatever damage had been inflicted, with the sheets shredded into pieces and the furs scattered across the floor, and one of the pillows had its feather contents emptied about the nightstand. Thor’s first thought had been Loki. The younger man was locked within the bathroom.

 

“You open this door now!”

 

_‘What reason have I? What will you do if I do not, Husband?’_

“I will break it down! Do not test me!”

 

He tried to keep the relief out of his voice as he shouted angrily. It was the first moment since entering their rooms that Loki had spoken to him, so at the very least he could say for certain that the other was relatively well. Thor could feel the blood rise to his face as the muscles began to ache from scowling; his mother’s concerns that morning began to repeat over and over in his mind, and he wanted nothing more than to break into the bathroom to check upon his husband. He did not know for how long he could patiently wait. It seemed that each moment lasted all too long.

 

“You made chaos of our room,” Thor shouted. “You hide in the bathroom like a frightened child! Tell me, what reason have I not to be worried so? What can be so important that it prevents you from unlocking this door?”

 

 _‘I am not allowed the right to use my own bathroom? I apologise, Thor, but whilst we are to seemingly share in_ all _things, I had hoped that I had still retained the right to void my bowels in relative privacy. You will excuse me for assuming that I had the right to lock a door at such a time . . . I am too otherwise occupied at the moment to unlock it. You will forgive me.’_

“Occupied? Doing what? Are you sick? Mother says you claim to be unwell.”

 

_‘I’m fixing my hair. I wish to look my best for my husband.’_

“Loki, I –”

 

Thor slammed the doorframe and then tried again at the handle. He was not sure why he expected the door to suddenly be unlocked, but he felt compelled to try again in case perhaps he had worked the door enough to loosen the locking mechanism. It did not open. He knew that Loki did not mean his sarcastic words cruelly, merely in jest, but now was not the time for such humour.

 

He wondered what would have happened were Loki to have still full reign of his magic, for he could picture well that Loki would have surely cast his spells of illusion about the room to hide the damage, but such thoughts felt foolish when Loki had nothing but the basics of his magic at his disposal. His husband could not hide anything from him. It was likely why he had chosen to lock himself away in the bathroom, for there was no other way for him to hide whatever it was that he felt unable to reveal to Thor. That realisation did not help to ease Thor’s concerns.

 

“You expect me to believe that you are preening?”

 

_‘We can not all wake up with blushingly beautiful hair, Thor.’_

“Is that right?” Thor smiled at his husband’s words. “I am honoured by your compliment. It is not often that you flatter me, especially as when you do so you hide your sincerity with insincere sarcasm. I thank you for your kind words.”

 

_‘It was not my intent to boost your over-inflated ego! It was not meant as praise!’_

“Aye, it rarely is meant as such. Still, I thank you.”

 

_‘I wish that you would not.’_

Thor laughed in good humour. He could hear the childish sulk to Loki’s tone, as well as the lack of callousness or offence. It seemed as if he had let slip a piece of sincere praise against his will, and whilst Thor would often return it with a jest – or Loki retract it with a facetious comment – it seemed that today was different. They allowed the moment of amicability to hang in the air. Thor cherished it for what it was, as he slid his hand across to the door itself and touched it with a sad smile.

 

“Open the door, Loki . . . please.”

 

It was then that the lock clicked open. Thor heaved a sigh of relief, albeit he felt a sense of dread at the fact Loki had used magic to unlock the door as opposed to opening it himself, which left him wondering what it was that prevented his husband’s movement. He felt thankful that he did not need to break down the door, the noise of which would have likely alerted the full attention of the guards, and such an act of destruction – added to the current mess – would have been hard to explain.

 

Thor pushed open the door slightly and stepped forward. The first thing that he noted was the sound of something breaking underfoot. It was a small sound that he almost discounted as nothing, but it crunched in such a way that whatever it was felt to be something important, an item that was not designed or expected to break in such a manner. He lifted his foot and looked down to see a small shard of glass, one that shimmered in the light and reflected his heel back up to him, and its jagged edges seemed raw and rough. He knew at once what Loki had done. It took only one last push of the door to open it completely, and when it swung open he saw the bathroom in its entirety. It lay in chaos.

 

“What have you done, Husband?”

 

It seemed that Loki had attempted to destroy the room. He had not confined his tantrum to the bedroom, instead he had allowed it to escalate so that the bathroom appeared almost unsalvageable, and as Thor looked about he knew that his father would hear of this. There could be no hiding the damage done. There would be great cost in terms of time and money spent in repairing what had been broken by what must have been a great outburst.

 

Thor saw how every mirror within the room had been smashed into pieces, with what appeared to be blood on some of the shards and frames, and every item within the room had been thrown or destroyed. The floor was slick with water, oils, soaps and other such liquids, whilst in places there seemed to be small puddles of blood and a trail that led to the corner of the bathroom by an upturned basin. 

 

Loki appeared just as broken. He sat in what appeared to be one of his sleeping tunics with his matching bottoms, but he was barefoot and the sleeve of his tunic was shredded down one side to reveal his arm. His foot bled quite severely and his arm appeared to have slashes deep upon it. Thor was also certain that Loki’s fist was cut too in the process, and the more he looked upon his husband the more fearful he felt. Thor noted how Loki appeared far paler than usual, with his black hair loose about his shoulders in untamed curls, and the smile upon his lips seemed both disconcerting and almost pitiable. Thor wondered how it had gotten this far.

 

“Well,” Loki asked, “is this what you wanted to see?”

 

“I knew that you hurt greatly,” Thor confessed, “for I felt the same way, but that it should come to this -! You are bleeding, Loki! Tell me what possessed you to act in such a manner! Why could you not come to me?”

 

“Do you take me for a fool? What would you have done had I have told you of the violation that I feel? You would have looked away in shame, then told me that you understood and apologised repeatedly, and then you would have refused to bed me again for fear of hurting me further. You would have refused me!”

 

“Of course I would have! Do you think that I enjoy your pain? I would have spared you the act of lying with me had I known, I would have had the healers see to you and then slept elsewhere. I cannot hurt you this way!”

 

“So it would be all for nought? The damage is done. We may as well continue.”

 

“Loki, you cannot think that way!”

 

Thor marched into the room and walked over to Loki. It seemed that his husband barely gave him a glance as he knelt before him, but Thor saw the way that those green eyes lit up just slightly and widened as if in gratitude of the other’s presence. Thor wondered if maybe he had imagined that reaction, if perhaps he interpreted it as one of relief in order to alleviate his guilt and shame, but he liked to think that there was enough love between them that Loki would not reject him entirely. The look in Loki’s expression felt oddly vulnerable and almost pleading.

 

“I have learned much about you these past few years, Loki, especially during the course of our marriage,” Thor continued sadly. “I have learned that you are stronger than I ever gave you credit, but that your heart is as far from as invulnerable as I had thought, and as such I confess that I should have realised this would hurt you far greater than it would me. I never expected this, however.”

 

“If you think me hurt now, imagine the pain that I shall feel were I to be brought back to the dungeons in chains, only _this_ time with the memory of such forced acts and the feeling of dirt constantly upon my skin. I have yet to feel clean.”

 

“You have bathed so much lately, is that why?”

 

Loki sneered and drew his right leg up to his chest, where he draped his arms casually around the limb as if he sought to protect himself. It was then that Thor noticed the slight pink tinge to his husband’s skin, one that seemed prominent on one so pale, and he realised that Loki had been scrubbing himself to the point of damaging his body. He had heard of maidens acting in such a way when violated against their will, but that his husband would feel so sullied hurt him dearly.

 

Thor reached out for the upturned basin. It felt cold and heavy to his hands, whilst still wet to the touch from where it had been earlier used, and as he stood he could feel Loki’s sharp glare upon him. He knew what the other feared most: rejection. It was more than simply feeling worthless, it was the fear that he would be cast back into the dungeons should Thor renege on his promise and choose not to bring forth an heir, and Thor did not know how to ease his concerns. He did not know how he could put his husband’s mind to rest, for it was clear that Loki was in great pain and wanted nothing less than to continue as they had been doing. He worried for Loki.

 

“I must fill this with water. We need clean your wounds.”

 

“There is no child yet, Thor,” Loki snapped. “You need not concern yourself by worrying so needlessly; after all, if my body is damaged then it is only myself that it pains. Do you tend to all prisoners this way?”

 

“I will not let them throw you back to the dungeons. You are my husband.”

 

“I am your husband for as long as there is a chance at an heir,” Loki said in a voice soft and broken. “Do not make me beg, Thor. I would rather not lose the last shred of self-respect that I have left. We have come so far, but to stop now would only make matters worse. You were never supposed to see me in this state, if you had not seen me like this then you would have willingly continued, that you cannot deny.”

 

“I would have been wrong to do so,” Thor replied. “It is my duty to protect you.”

 

“Then forget you saw anything.”

 

There was an awkward silence that followed. It was difficult to find words to say when there was little that could be said, for he knew that Loki was right, as much as it would hurt them to continue to lie together. They shared a long look between them; Loki gazed pleadingly with a weakness that he rarely ever showed to any other, and the last time Thor could remember such a look had been back within the dungeons. 

 

There had been a time as children when they had fought during a sparring match, when Thor had referred to Loki by a word that he had always regretted and had never used again, and Loki had reacted by throwing a spell to him that had knocked him unconscious and caused him to wake spluttering for breath. The look upon Loki’s face had been one of horror and fear at believing he had lost his brother, but there had been a deep and unbreakable love behind it that had softened it immensely. That was the look that Thor saw as he looked to Loki now. He saw a man afraid of the consequences of his actions, and a man that turned to his loved one for a solution.

 

Thor walked across to the taps by the bath to fill the basin, making sure that the water was cool as Loki preferred it to be, and brought it back to lay by his husband’s side gently along with a wash-cloth. He knelt beside Loki’s injured leg and gently lifted it onto his lap. Loki gave a sharp wince and held on tighter onto his uninjured limb, and as Thor began to pick out the shards of glass embedded within his skin he hissed and tried to pull back his foot.

 

“You must hold still, Loki!” Thor said sharply. “Do you wish to visit the healers? They may have a gentler touch, but I am sure that they will not hesitate to tell Father exactly what damage that you have done to yourself.”

 

“First-aid was never your forte . . .”

 

Loki gave a weak smile. He leaned his head to one side and cast his green eyes vaguely upon Thor, but the sadness behind his expression made Thor pause in his ministrations. It was only when the last shard of glass had gone – when he wet the cloth and began to cleanse the cut – that his husband hissed and the smile vanished. Thor felt a keen sense of pain that felt difficult to endure. The smile returned upon the other’s face, but this time broken and with tearful eyes.

 

“Thor,” Loki murmured, “will you truly take me no longer?”

 

“I know that we have much to discuss,” Thor said firmly. “I need to know your mind and why you have acted this way, but . . . I do not see how I can act when it hurts you so greatly. Do you not know how it breaks my heart to see you this way?”

 

“It was not my intent for you to see me this way. It is true that I hid my feelings from you, but what choice did I have, truly? We both consented to this knowing what would be involved, that it would be difficult for us both emotionally, but to turn back at this late a stage -! It is not as though I would be sent back to the dungeons to a sense of _status quo_ ; I would be sent back knowing that I have lost what can never be returned, that I would have to endure such feelings of violation alone, and that everything we have done will have been a waste.

 

“I will not deny that it hurts me to lie with you every night, knowing that there is no choice in the matter, especially when – given time – I may have gained enough love for you to consent willingly, but what choice do we have? If we continue then you will have the heir that you need and you will fulfill your duty to your realm, and in turn I will have my freedom secured. We can perhaps even erase these bad memories, if given enough time and space.

 

“This is why I did not speak to you about such matters. You must promise me that we will continue to act nightly as required of us. We must continue until an heir has been brought into existence! We have no choice, Husband!”

 

“There is always a choice, Loki!”

 

The look that Loki wore was almost venomous. It had turned his complexion deathly pale and his eyes were narrowed into a dark glare, and when Thor looked to him he could see the lines at the corner of his eyes tighten and deepen. He finished attending to Loki’s foot and felt the other pull it away, so that now he had arms wrapped loosely around both limbs that were pulled against him, and when Thor reached out to take his arm – ready to tend to it also – Loki pulled away harshly.

 

There was a shake to Loki’s hands that was only stopped by the tight grip he held, and Thor found himself forced to sit beside his husband against the wall in the corner of the bathroom, although the gesture seemed to bring little comfort to Loki. Loki appeared to follow him with his eyes, so that his head turned as Thor moved in order to keep him locked in sights, but it was difficult to determine what he felt or thought as he did so. He wished that it had been his mother after all to talk to his husband, for she could interpret every look and every gesture in a way that he never could. It took all his strength not to reach out to Loki and take a hold of his neck. He wanted to comfort the other, but he knew not what to do or say.

 

“There was no choice . . . ”

 

Thor felt a cold sense of dread wash through him. The words of his husband were filled with a bitter anger and spoken barely above a hissed whisper, and when he looked to the other he could see Loki’s hands now strained open and shaking. He seemed to strive to hold back what he felt. It was as if he sought to wring the air itself, with his lips curled as if ready to scream, and Thor knew those signs all too well. Loki was close to his breaking point.

 

“Loki, you must tell me what you mean.”

 

“What do I mean?” Loki spat. “I would have thought that obvious, _Husband_ , but it seems that my growing confidence in you was undeserved. I _mean_ that there was no choice. I _mean_ that we were forced to act! I _mean_ that this was nothing more than a _violation_ , an act of _rape_! _Rape_ , Thor!”

 

“Those are cruel words indeed. Do you mean to wound me? I never –”

 

“You are a victim as much as I, that I will not deny,” Loki continued, “but that does not change what has happened between us! I may have lain with you willingly in time, I cannot rightly say, but to have that choice taken from me – from you – is an offence that I cannot bear! I may be a prisoner, but I had always the right to my body until this moment . . . now I am reduced to a mere _object_. I am a thing to be taken and used, good for only bearing forth a child, an heir!”

 

“Loki, you are no object! You –”

 

“I _what_? I do not hold you responsible, for you were pressured into it as much as I, but I will lose all respect for you should you continue to insist that this was anything close to consensual! When ‘consent’ is forced then it ceases to be consent! Do not get me wrong, Husband, for if I had been in the Allfather’s position then I would have demanded the same, but that is the dilemma of a ruler, is it not? One cannot be both a good man and a good king. What we do is right for the realm, but it is not right for us by any means . . . it hurts me greatly. This was rape, nothing more, and nothing I do will cleanse my body . . . for that I blame your father.”

 

Thor tensed at such words. He had grown used to Loki’s cold words towards his father, the bitterness and the resentment, but to hear his father – their king – referred to as no more than one that would commit the act of violation . . . Thor could barely contain his anger. He could understand Loki’s feelings, but there could be no doubt that Odin Allfather acted only with the best interests of his realm at heart, and to hear such a great man slighted by such insults was hard to bear.

 

He hated that Loki felt such a way, so dirty and used, but he could not understand Loki’s need to blame another that had no part in such an act. It was possible that such an act was easier to endure when there was someone to lay at fault, but what was done could never be undone and no amount of hostility would change that. Thor reached out and took a hold of Loki’s wrist. The other man instinctively snatched his hand away, as if the very idea of being held by Thor offended him, but when Thor reached back and took a firm hold – pulling Loki’s arm towards him – his husband allowed the gesture and let his arm rest in Thor’s lap. Loki merely rolled his eyes and sent a dark glare to the other’s way.

 

Thor gently began to clean the cuts on his husband’s arm. Loki winced and tugged at his arm, but Thor held tight in order to make sure that the wound was free from glass-shards and that the blood was wiped away. He did not think that the other would appreciate the feeling of actual dirt upon his skin, especially when he felt so polluted by their acts as he had, and so he took care to clean Loki’s wound as he had wont to do when they had been younger. The air felt more amiable and less tense, as if they had returned to a gentler time.

“I am sure that he would also appropriate the blame to you,” Thor chastised.

 

“You are likely correct,” Loki replied. “I spoke out turn and for that I am punished. I did not expect the Allfather to overhear as he did or to turn the situation to a political advantage, and as such I cannot help but hate him for his demand. I know you seek to lighten the situation, but Thor . . . I must know what you feel of all this.”

 

Thor stilled in surprise at the sincerity spoken. He first suspected that Loki strove to manipulate the situation somehow, but the look of sheer pain upon the other’s face was enough to convince him otherwise. It was true that Loki was a magnificent actor; he was one that had fooled the Thor on many an occasion, but the likelihood that Loki would appear so broken and small – something that went against his pride and stoicism – was small when considered that it was Thor he showed this side to. Thor continued to nurse the wound with a small sigh and shook his head.

 

“How do I feel?” Thor asked. “I am offended greatly by your comments.”

 

“It was not my intent to offend you. I know that you are not one for subtlety, and so if I were to insult you then I would be sure to use such small words that you would understand them as the insults they were. I hold you not at fault for this.”

 

“Yet you would insult my father?” Thor snapped. “I know that you feel great distrust towards him, that I cannot deny you are just in doing so, but he did not force you to submit to me as you did! He did not force me to take you! If you wish to lay fault at someone, you would be forced to blame more people than I can count, for we have all had a part in this! I will always hate myself for what I have done to you, but what I did so is not the complete fault of the Allfather’s! He did not do this!”

 

“He may as well have raped me himself! _He forced this, Thor_!”

 

Thor clenched his fists tightly. The cloth in his hand was wrung under the pressure and dripped water upon Thor’s leg, but he merely let out a hissed breath and cleaned the last of the blood from the other’s arm. He hated the words that Loki spoke, for they came as a great insult, but – more than the insult against his father – he loathed that he had failed his husband in such a way.

 

Loki should have felt safe enough not to need to lay blame at another’s door, safe enough to express his emotions without fear of consequence, and safe enough to trust Thor with his heart and his life. The smell of blood sickened Thor and reminded him of what was at stake. He rolled the sleeves of Loki’s arm so that the loose rags would not aggravate his wounds, and then gently ran his fingertips over the purple and raised edges of the many cuts. Loki flinched and drew back his arm. Thor felt the sorrow overcome him as his husband pulled away so, for he felt somewhat helpless to undo his pain and ease his suffering. He played with the washcloth aimlessly.

 

“Blame _me_ , if you must blame someone,” Thor pleaded. “I have hated myself for what I have done to you. I have strove to put my guilt to one side, for I could not bear for you to feel further pain or remorse at seeing me at my worst, but if I had known what it was that you felt -! You are not alone in this. I hate that I have done this to you, but I did what I must to keep you safe and free from prison. I am sorry, Loki.”

 

“I do not wish you hear your apologies,” Loki replied softly. “You only did what needed to be done, just as you will no doubt claim that the Allfather only acted as was needed of him in turn . . . I hate when you act so rationally! It is enough to make me believe that you have not neglected to train your brain after all, but still . . . I will not blame you, Thor. It was your _father_ that brought this upon us. I know that I should not hold him responsible when I would have demanded the same for the sake of my realm, but I hate him for taking from me what I can never get back! I hate him, Thor.”

 

Thor looked to Loki and saw the veil upon his eyes. It seemed that he was filled with unshed tears that waited to be freed, but Loki was a man of pride and image. His husband would not cry in front of another, not when he could otherwise prevent it and keep his emotions in check, but before Thor he showed a weaker side that the other could not help but appreciate. Loki had always been more open about his opinions and feelings with Thor than any other, and Thor was glad that much had not changed.

 

The air felt thick and humid from the water that had been cast about the room, so much so that Thor could not understand what pleasure his husband must have taken from his many baths when the air was so suffocating. He threw the cloth across the room and let it fall where it may, for he knew well that the servants or Loki would only tidy it later, but when it landed with a dull thud he saw the other man wince and glare at Thor darkly. He could only smile, for it felt typical of Loki to object to someone making a mess when it was he himself that had created the most destruction. He took a hold of Loki by the neck and held him gently.

 

Loki did not relent into the touch, not at first, but when he looked and saw Thor’s smile it seemed that the tension eased from him. It was then that his shoulders lost their rigid feeling and a long sigh left him; Thor thought for a moment that Loki would lean against him for a more intimate hold, but even when they had confided in each at their best of times the other had never acted so, and so the thought was an irrational one. Loki, instead, leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes.

 

“I understand, Husband,” Thor said sadly.

 

“You understand nothing.”

 

“Then educate me.”

 

Thor withdrew his hand from the other’s neck, which caused Loki to turn his head to the side and regard his husband with deep interest. If he saw the emotion well in Thor’s eyes, he said nothing, but the self-conscious feeling was one that Thor felt hard to shake. He had always shared with Loki everything, first as a brother and now as a husband, but despite how their familial ties had been shattered – replaced by stronger ties of matrimony – he felt afraid that Loki would care not for the sentimentality.

 

“You were not the one to be taken,” Loki said. “I have never hated myself more than in this moment. The entire court knows what we have done, Thor, and from that they know that I have permitted you to take me and lain with you of my own accord. I can only imagine what they must speak of me! _Loki_ , the man that fights in such an unmanly style from afar, the man that was taught magic by his mother, and the man that would rather reason with his enemies then dismember them . . .

 

“Oh, if they thought so _low_ of me then, what must they think of me _now_? I never thought that I would _debase_ myself and risk my reputation by lying with a man, no matter how attracted I may be, but that I would be forced to do so anyway . . . that the first time I would feel another inside me in such a way would be out of duty alone . . . that I cannot bear! I hate that I sound like such a maiden, but I fear that is the way I shall be seen from now on. I keep _feeling_ your hands upon my behind, I _see_ the bruises upon my hip, and _never_ do I forget what has happened between us.

 

“It has always irked me that even Lady Sif has had more respect than _I_ have,” Loki admitted sadly, “but at least she _earned_ that respect in battle and with her demeanour. Did I earn this? Do I deserve to lose all respect? A woman cannot _choose_ her position, she can only prove her worth and rise above such prejudices, but a man _can_ choose to lie with another and as such lose everything . . . I am less than a woman. I am what they call _argr_. I am an _ergi_. They do not curse you . . . you _give_ , not _receive_.”

 

“Who has referred to you in such terms?” Thor said coldly. “I will have the head of any man that dares to insult my husband and their prince! No one shall speak of you as such whenever I am near to hear it!”

 

“That is the _point_ , Husband, you will not always be there _to_ hear it. It will only get worse once I am swollen with child, when I am fit to burst and my looks have gone, and then where shall I be? I know what it is that I sacrifice, for I am more than willing to do so in order to procure my freedom, but I underestimated what this would do to my soul and to my reputation. I love you dearly, Thor, perhaps enough that long into the future this would not have seemed like such a sacrifice and consent may have come, but as it stands I fear that I have gained nothing but a burden.”

 

It hurt Thor to hear those words more than he could express. He had lived his life as a defender of their realm and a warrior for justice, and each and every realm he had sworn to protect he did so with passion and great care of duty. It angered him to see any of his people dishonoured or so insulted, but to see that same pain caused to his husband and equal was more than was bearable, especially when he knew – as well as Loki – that he was powerless to defend against it.

 

He knew that he should have given greater thought to Loki’s sacrifice, but the only other option had been to take every last freedom of his husband’s and throw him back into the cells, a thought that neither could abide. They sat silently beside one another for a long moment. It seemed that Loki sought to gather his thoughts as much as Thor, something that he could not fault the other man for, and yet there was so much to be said that needed to be said. He looked to Loki and saw that the other man watched him with great interest; it was something that reminded him of his mother’s words of how the other had always admired him. Thor smiled weakly.

 

“You are no burden,” Thor whispered. “It is my honour to have you as my husband. I am glad to have you by my side, for I am more grateful for your presence than I thought that I would ever be. It is my hope that you will serve as my most trusted advisor, as my _equal_ , but I admit that I never gave thought to how deep that your wounds must run. I apologise, Loki, but I must know . . . do you think yourself capable of continuing? Do you wish for me to stop?”

 

Loki smiled in turn, but there was something dark to the gesture. He rolled his head back and forth as if laughing silently at some joke, before he closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath as if to calm himself, and then he opened wide his eyes and looked to Thor with an emotion that the other could not quite recognise. Thor leaned towards him out of instinct to rest his forehead upon the other’s, but he held back as he knew that Loki would consider it a far too intimate a gesture at such a time and in such a place. He waited for his husband to break the silence.

 

“It is as I said,” Loki said calmly. “If we were to stop now, it would make all of this worth nothing. I would have suffered _for nothing_. I trust you, Thor, for if I did not then I would never have consented to lie with you to begin with, but that does not make this task any easier. I would ask for a break . . . an evening without the act of intercourse . . . so that I may collect my emotions.”

 

“I can allow that,” Thor replied, “if you promise that you will let me spend the evening with you. I would talk with you, both about your emotions and my own, and from that we may build further trust. It may make tomorrow night’s act easier.”

 

“Draw me a bath and I may consider it.”

 

Thor laughed loudly and shot Loki a chastising look. There was something almost childish about his husband’s expression; he pouted in such a way that it was clear that he felt comfortable, but there was deep venom to his eyes that spoke of a man that was deeply hurt and in need of support. That Loki could make such demands of Thor, that he could act the part of a spoiled prince, at least gave the older of the two a sense of hope that things could perhaps return to relative normality.

 

It would take time to gain Loki’s trust, to ease the suffering that he had endured, but he held hope that in time – no matter how long – he could bring the Loki he had once known back to them. Thor reached out and took a hold of his husband by his neck, letting his thumb rub gently upon the other’s jawbone, and smiled sadly as he saw that the humour in Loki’s face was almost non-existent. Loki hurt. He hurt emotionally and mentally, but there was little Thor could do to ease those emotions save for reassuring him and speaking kindly to him. He wanted to do more, but there was nothing that he could do. This would take time.

 

“You would make such demands of me?” Thor teased.

 

“Why not? You make such demands of me,” Loki replied petulantly. “The least that you can do in turn is to draw my bath so that I may feel clean once more, but if that is too much for you then you can always clean the bathroom and bedroom instead.”

 

“You would have me clean _your_ messes?”

 

“You claim to do so anyway.”

 

Thor saw Loki’s expression and knew that it was meant mostly in jest. There was still the intent to annoy and insult, but it was borne from an automatic response to keep the other at bay, not out of a true sadistic need to hurt. It was as if Loki had returned to the childish bickering that Thor could never seem to win at, that playful attitude that they had often shared growing up, where every verbal or physical hit was considered both a great victory and an act of bonding. He knew that it might be foolish to assume this was a start to a new path, one of healing, but it gave him hope anew.

 

“Will you talk to me as the bath fills?” Thor asked. “I would like to talk with you.”

 

“Just so long as you leave when it comes time to bathe,” Loki snapped.

 

“That sounds reasonable,” Thor laughed.

 


	15. Chapter 15

# Chapter Fifteen

****

“You shall be okay as I train?”

 

Thor looked to Loki with concern. It tempted the younger man to cut him with cold words, for he was far from a fragile flower and felt insulted by such an insinuation. The only thing to stop him was that he knew progress had been made in the past month. It no longer hurt to be taken by Thor, and Loki had learned to appreciate his husband’s sacrifices enough to refrain from dismissing them. He held his tongue.

 

The sun that shone from behind his husband hurt Loki’s eyes as he looked up, but it gave the other man an almost enviable glow. Loki clasped his hands upon his closed leather-bound book, enjoying how cool it was to the touch on an otherwise warm day, and leaned back against the stone bench. The smile on his lips was tight, with his eyes narrowed to express the annoyance that he felt, but he kept his body language relaxed and refrained from kicking at Thor where the other stood. The garden was not where Loki wished to be, but he bore with it due to the risk of beginning an argument.

 

“Is sarcasm an acceptable response?”

 

“No, it is not,” said Thor firmly.

 

“In that case, I do not think that an hour deprived of your company will be detrimental to my well-being,” Loki replied. “I was able to survive a _year_ in realms so dark that your mind cannot begin to comprehend them, and so to spend only a fleeting moment in our garden is _nothing_ in comparison. I will be fine.”

 

Thor gave a heavy breath. The hand upon Mjölnir tensed as he bounced the hammer slightly in his grip, the gesture somewhere between an instinctive response and a need to intimidate, but Thor’s expression remained calm. There came a slight breeze that ruffled Thor’s hair, as he stood with legs apart and chin high, and his cape moved behind him to block the view of Frigga talking with the Warriors Three and Lady Sif; they waited for him to begin training. Thor clearly worried about Loki’s response.

 

These four weeks had been difficult upon them. Each day had been marked off by the act of trying for an heir, and as such it had changed their relationship considerably. Loki kept true to his rules laid down at the start; he would not look at Thor during the acts or allow for any kisses, for such things turned an act of obligation into an act of intimacy, which he could not bear. Still, they had experienced something private and personal, regardless of circumstances, and it had caused his feelings to change. The feeling of violation remained, but his trust for Thor had grown. He felt conflicted.

 

He found himself possessive and concerned for the one that used him, especially when Thor strove to make the act as comfortable as possible for him, but that – along with his body’s occasional unwanted responses – only caused him to resent the other and to hate himself. There were not enough baths and soaps in the world to cleanse him of the shame that he felt, nor his concern that he felt closer to Thor than he had in some time. It was then that Thor moved and Loki caught sight of his mother. She stood across the garden next to Lady Sif; Loki noted that she appeared beautifully dressed, but her brow held a furrow that caused a pang of guilt to course through him.

 

“I expected something of a kinder answer,” Thor confessed.

 

Thor broke the silence with his words. He moved just slightly back as to block Loki’s view and to also block out the streaming sunlight, which was something of both a relief and a curse to the younger man. Loki crossed his legs at the ankles and turned his gaze back to Thor with a smile somewhat more sincere than the last, for his husband’s words – as stern as they were – gave the impression of a gentle teasing.

 

“You asked that I refrain from sarcasm,” Loki said. “I did.”

 

“Aye. That you did. I simply wish that you would say what you feel, without pushing me away in the process.” Thor shook his head. “It is tiresome to always fight you.”

 

“You would begrudge me the distance we have? I love you dearly, Thor, but there is nothing more painful than to be taken against one’s will, let alone to then have to face one’s user on a daily basis. I know that this is not your fault, but you do not know what it is like to feel as I do! You have seen my body, _used_ my body, and have seen me broken emotionally . . . let me at least keep some secrets.”

 

“I wish that you would open to me . . .”

 

“Shall I tell you what I feel, Thor?” Loki replied. “Conflicted! I thought that the feeling of rape would be the worst that I would endure . . . I was wrong. There have been nights when my body responded . . . when it _reacted_. I hate myself for it! I know not how to process such a thing! It is taking too long to create an heir and each day that passes my feelings grow more convoluted and indecipherable. I do not know what this means, or – _rather_ – I suspect that I do and I loathe myself for it.”

 

It seemed that his words had more of an impact on his husband than he imagined. Thor tightened his grip on Mjölnir, whilst his empty hand became a tight fist and seemed to pulse with the pressure he applied to it. He turned his head to one side as if to listen to the conversation behind him, before he looked to Loki and softened his gaze, so that Loki was forced to hold tighter to his book and draw in deep breath. He disliked how pained the look seemed to be. He knew that Thor felt sorry for him.

 

“I ask that you do not pity me, Husband. I had not wished to acknowledge any of this to myself, let alone to another . . . it is painful to speak about. Your father should have swung the axe when he had the chance. My reactions are a deviancy, nothing more.”

 

“Loki, you are not a d-!”

 

_‘Thor, will you hurry? The sooner we finish, the sooner we drink!’_

 

It seemed that Thor’s friends had grown impatient. Loki gave him an expectant look and smiled somewhat childishly, before he nodded his head in their direction and waved a hand to dismiss his husband. Thor’s knuckles grew white upon his hammer, whilst his lips parted just slightly and his eyes seemed to plead with Loki, and as he stood he seemed reluctant to move, reluctant to go. It was almost admirable.

 

Thor turned and looked across to his companions with a smile, before he gave a wave of his hand to signal acknowledgement. Loki looked past his husband to see the others where they stood; it seemed that they waited for him, with Fandral swinging his sword lazily by his side as if he sought to get a feel for its weight. Lady Sif looked to Loki with a curious expression, one that spoke of concern and also cynicism, for as much as she worried for Loki she would also worry for Thor, especially were she to believe that Loki was speaking cruelly to him or manipulating him in some way.

“I must go, Husband,” Thor said, “but will you be okay?”

 

“I will be fine. Go.”

 

Loki watched as Thor wandered across the way to his friends, whilst his mother made her way to Loki in turn. The two stopped midway to exchange a few words; it was not enough to delay training further, but enough to make Loki – and Sif too – look with interest to them out of curiosity concerning what was being said. Frigga held Thor’s hands and then said her goodbyes, before she walked the rest of the way to Loki. She moved so elegantly that it was difficult not to admire her.

 

She knelt down beside Loki in a graceful and feminine manner, despite how her age should have made such a movement difficult, and as she did so the skirts of her golden dress trailed lightly upon the grass and fell in beautiful folds. Loki caught the scent of her perfume and saw the formal jewellery upon her body, small things that told him that she had been – or would soon be – at an important function or event. Frigga pulled Loki into a warm embrace. Her touch gave him comfort.

 

“Loki, look at you! I am glad to see you well. You are glowing!”

 

“I am not glowing yet, Mother. It has only been a month.”

 

“Oh, you are too modest. You look radiant.”

 

Frigga pulled away and took his hands within hers, with a touch so gentle it almost provided a comfort for him, and when he looked into her eyes he saw what felt like infinite warmth. She moved upwards to sit upon the stone bench, but Loki could not bear for her to sit on her own when he was only a few inches away, and so he lifted his body and sat reluctantly beside her as he should have done from the very start.

 

“I am sure that if I put out such an aura,” Loki said gently, “I would know about it. I have yet to experience a single symptom, but that is to be expected when it has only been four weeks. It is too soon to be ‘glowing’.”

 

“I am not so sure, my son,” Frigga replied. “I am certain that in another four weeks we shall find ourselves with a new blessing to celebrate. You must know that not all symptoms will appear immediately upon conception; indeed it was many weeks before I suspected Thor’s existence, for my body did not react anything out of the ordinary. It was the weight gain that alerted me.”

 

“Do you mean to say that I have gained weight? I feel slighted, not least when I train daily and have yet to conceive. Do not speak of such things to Thor, I beg you! He will not recognise your teasing for what it is and shall assume that you speak truth.”

 

“You assume that I would tease about a subject so serious?”

 

It was rare that his mother would jest so, but it was no real surprise when for so long she had been lost in grief. He had missed these moments. There had been many times in Loki’s younger years in which he felt frustrated, where he would feel overlooked or mocked beyond measure, but his mother had always lovingly sat beside him. She would share tales about Thor to show that he was fallible, whilst speculating about his father’s feelings, and together they would talk at length. When Thor or Odin found them, she would make teasing quips that only Loki understood, leaving them puzzled.

 

Thor may no longer have been his brother, a fact that he welcomed as he hoped never to return to such a relationship, but Frigga would always be his mother. She was the one constant in his life. Loki smiled and looked to Thor who had begun to fight within the garden, and he watched with interest as he saw his husband hold his own against two of the Warriors Three. Loki admired his skill, but when Lady Sif entered the fray he began to doubt that Thor would be victorious. He fought well, regardless.

 

“Tell me, Loki,” Frigga begged, “are you well?”

 

“I am as well as can be expected, Mother,” Loki replied, as he kept his eyes upon the sparring match. “It is still difficult to come to terms with my circumstances. I have only been married for three months, but they have been very long months indeed.”

 

“I promise you that time will move faster when love falls. I daresay that the past millennia have passed me by so quickly that I fear I have missed so much, and every moment that I spend by my husband’s side – and the sides of my children – I cherish so completely that I would they would never end. Time flows according to the quality of company one keeps; you should keep such good company more.”

 

“That is what you would talk to me about?” Loki asked. “I have left my room often in these past few weeks, more so than I would have liked, and so I have had barely a moment to myself. It seems to matter not that I enjoy solitude, for even today I would rather have read alone and yet I am forced to watch Thor fight.”

 

“You do not seem to mind, Loki.”

 

It was then that Loki caught Thor’s gaze. His husband smiled briefly and paused in his match; the moment seemed to stand still, with much passing in way of communication silently between the two of them. Thor twitched his lips devilishly. A second later Thor had turned and rounded upon Volstagg, pushing the other away with great skill, so that it seemed as if he were now showing off.

 

Loki clenched at his book. The anger at having caught himself watching the one that had used his body, the one that would _continue_ to use his body, angered him more than anything else. He felt his fingers run numb around the leather, along with a searing pain in his chest from how he had held his breath for so long, and suddenly he could hear his pulse drum within his ears. He slammed the book down beside him. It hit hard the stone with a painful slap. Loki drew in a deep breath and kept a shaky hand upon the leather, before he pulled it away and kept it clenched within his lap.

 

“I mind more than you realise,” Loki said.

 

“I think you underestimate my understanding,” she said kindly. “You have always been one for privacy, just as you rarely express your feelings out of fear of rejection; now you find yourself close to another physically and emotionally, which scares you. It may take time to process what you feel, but do not punish yourself for feeling it.”

 

“I will do as I like! You do not know what I have endured. The acts that I commit may have grown easier, but that is _not_ because I seek them out! I find myself feeling numb during them, whereas once I felt great turmoil . . . I know not which is worse!”

 

“I do. You locked yourself away for many days, and to a mother that only wishes to protect her son those days felt like decades. I would rather bear the pain of childbirth afresh, than to feel so helpless as to see you hurt. I believe that soon you will understand. You do not think that I know how you feel, but until you bear a child and nurture it then you shall not understand my feelings in turn. Tell me, are you well?”

 

Loki drew in deep breath. He felt frustrated by her endless assumptions, not least for the fact that she seemed to see an heir as an end to his suffering, when the only thing that an heir would provide would be an end to his violations. He loathed himself for how his body and heart began to react to such acts, and – were the acts of intimacy to become successful – he would find himself with new worries. He had yet to consider the act of carrying a child, the pain of bearing it, or even how it would be raised.

 

“No, I am not well.”

 

Frigga paled at those words. It was difficult for Loki to see her when he had turned his gaze to the soft grass beneath his feet, but he could not help but notice the staggered breath that she released. She reached out to move a loose lock of black hair behind his ear, a gentle touch that caused him to flinch away, and he at once felt guilty for his reaction. He could not ignore the hurt upon her face and the sorrow to her eyes.

 

He had not meant to flinch from her. It was simply that his husband was an affectionate man prone to small intimacies, so that – when Loki would return to bed after bathing – he would often touch him, whether it was merely an arm thrown over his waist or a gentle stroking of his hair. Those touches once used to express platonic love were now given new context, now associated with the act of intimacy, and they confused him. He did not know what Thor meant by them. He only knew that – in that brief moment – he was reminded of the many nights previous and felt that pain afresh.

 

“I am sorry,” Loki said. “I know you would not hurt me.”

 

“Loki, has Thor hurt you? He surely has not struck you in any way?”

 

“No, he has done worse.” Loki swallowed hard. “I have asked him over and over not to touch me as we ready to sleep, but he continues to act with affection. I cannot stand it! I do not know what he means by such touches, but all I know is that if he were violent then it would be far, _far_ easier to endure. He seems to merge love with rape.”

 

“Do not say those words, please, not to me.”

 

Frigga took a hold of his hand at once. Her hold was almost painful, for it seemed that she clung to him for a reassurance that he felt unable to give, and as she held onto his hand he felt a pain within his chest. The cool breeze stung his eyes when he looked to her, but the tears that pricked her eyes hurt him more, and when he looked away he saw Thor. His husband blocked an oncoming blow from Hogun, but Loki was forced to look away when he saw that Thor was but moments away from attending to him.

 

“Thor loves you dearly,” Frigga continued. “If he brushes away a lock of hair, or holds your neck, or even rests his forehead to yours . . . it is because he _loves_ you. Your husband feels as forced as you do, but whereas you would seek violence to the act to distance yourself and define it simpler, he would rather shower you with affection so that you know the act does not define what your relationship could be.

 

“I would not presume to know how he loves you, for only he could answer that, but you must realise that when he acts so softly outside of your private quarters that you never take offence. Thor does not see his actions as any different, regardless of the situation, whereas you see great difference. You would act as if his actions mean new things when used in new ways, but the truth is they do not. It is okay if this confuses you, but please do not torture yourself. Is this why you reacted so strongly that day?”

 

Loki allowed her to place his hand upon the stone between them, where she allowed hers to rest on his, but he felt an urge to pull away almost as great as when Thor tried to act the same within the privacy of their rooms. He would pull away from Thor nearly every single time, but he could not pull away from her. He closed his eyes for a brief moment to collect his emotions. The day she referred to was clear: the day that Thor found him in the bathroom battered and broken.

 

“I sought to go to your side,” Frigga confessed, “but my husband forbade interference for as long as you posed no threat to our realm. It is his belief that a spouse should tend to their lover, that a mother should relinquish her hold and believe in the one that she has entrusted her child to, and so I asked for Thor to see to you in my place.”

 

Loki sent a curious look to Thor. His husband rarely took his gaze away from Loki, and yet – as much as Thor strove to show off – it seemed that he had learned to keep his wits about him. He kept aware of his surroundings, so that rarely did any blows connect with him, and Loki admired that Thor did not childishly seek to display his skill aimlessly like a peacock preening. Still, he could not help but feel there was a subtle display intended nonetheless. Thor paused for a brief moment. He gave a smile and a wink, before he went in for a dangerous manoeuvre that sent Fandral sprawling. 

 

Loki rolled his eyes and looked away, for it seemed that he had been wrong to assume a greater maturity in his husband, and so – as Thor began to mindlessly fight, with little care to strategy – Loki turned to face his mother. He could feel her words heavy in the air. It seemed that she believed he could move forward in some way, but he knew better. He knew that there was no future for him other than as a walking womb.

 

“I was nothing but a prisoner,” Loki said coldly, “but now I am merely a political pawn to be used as the Allfather sees fit. Thor married me out of duty! He would be a fool to fall in love with me! Do you truly think my future promising? I may make peace with my position, but I will be forever bound to one that loves me not!”

 

“My husband would never forbid Thor from falling for you, should those emotions come naturally and were not manipulated. He wants only what is best for Thor, for the _both_ of you, and once you prove your worth nothing will stand in your way.”

 

“What do you expect from me, Mother? Am I to prove my loyalty to our realm, so that Thor shall fall at my feet and the Allfather bless our union? Shall I bear forth an heir, so that I may never seek an annulment and instead feel lucky to be forced into such a marriage? The Allfather wanted me dead. He staved off my execution only as he did not wish to see you hurt. I will _never_ be good enough for him or his son!”

 

“Loki, your words hurt more than you know.”

 

Frigga stood beside him. It seemed that she moved before him so as to cast him in shadow, one that felt cool on an otherwise warm day and blocked the painful light from piercing his sight, and yet he did not like to sit beneath her as he did. It reminded him too much of his childhood, of times when he would look up to her for advice and rely on her for protection, and whilst he loved her dearly he did not wish to defer to her as he had. He was no longer a child. He wished to be heard as an adult.

 

It was almost palpable the tension between them. He loved her too much to speak his mind and tell her of his frustrations, but he could no longer bear to be told how the Allfather sought to act only with the best intentions, or how Thor loved him truly and their relationship would grow to perfection. He could not bear to have his world-view corrected with every word he spoke. He would have coldly chastised her or insulted her, were she anyone else, but she was his mother. She had raised him and had taught him all that he knew. He would not disrespect her.

 

“Do you truly wish for a future that is so dark?”

 

“What I wish is of no consequence,” Loki said softly. “I only know that I cannot redeem myself. Thor will never love me in the way that you foresee, just as Odin would never allow it even were it so. He would be right to forbid such feelings. If I were king, I too would not wish for the heir to the throne to fall for a Jotun runt.”

 

“Do you still think so little of yourself? Your father may be king of Asgard, he may rule his subjects as he sees fit, but he shall _never_ rule their hearts. There is no ruler of our hearts other than ourselves. Your father –”

 

“ _He is not my father_!”

 

Loki kept his head low. The effect was unsettling, one that created a powerful shadow about his pale face. He could not deny her place as his mother, but that the Allfather could be considered a father was a great insult. Frigga mostly referred to the older man as her husband or Thor’s father, but she had rarely referred to him as Loki’s father since the marriage, and he wondered whether it was because it reminded her of the brotherly ties once shared, for it made their relationship feel quasi-incestuous. It was true that as Loki’s father-in-law Odin was owed the title of ‘father’, but with their history as rich as it was it became a word he could not bear.

 

“Then am I not your mother?” Frigga asked.

 

Loki lifted his head to look at her. He felt a sharp pain within his throat, so that swallowing became a great difficulty, and he could feel a hot sweat drench his body. He had never meant for her to feel as if he did not appreciate her, for she was the one person that he loved beyond all else, and she was the one person that made the idea of an heir bearable. He wanted his child to learn from her, to absorb her gentleness, and he could not imagine a family without her. He had never intended to hurt her.

 

He knew what she wanted. She wanted him to acknowledge her, for through acknowledging her then he would be forced to acknowledge Odin Allfather also, and perhaps then the two would find peace. He could never recognise Odin as his father, not least because of his marriage to Thor, but he knew that he _could_ recognise him as the father-in-law that he was, but to do so would was too great a sacrifice.

 

It was one thing to submit to a ruler’s orders, but to acknowledge Odin as a parental figure was not something that he could endure. This was the man that had lied to him his entire life, the man that had told him that he had been born to die, and the man that now sought to use him as a political tool by marrying him to a prince of the realm. Odin had used him and hurt him dearly. It felt as if Frigga asked him to choose what was more important to him: his love for his mother or his hatred for their ruler.

 

“No. You are not my mother.”

 

He stood so that he could stand to her as an equal. He loved her, but he could not have her love held hostage to the condition that he may pay Odin Allfather that same respect. The breath that he drew in was staggered and broken, enough that he knew she heard the pain that he felt and that he had handed her the advantage. He wanted to reach out to her. He wanted to show his love as well as to feel love in turn.

 

“You will see the truth in time, Loki,” she whispered.

 

“Mother, I –”

 

Loki reached out to her, but she had already stepped away. The smile on her face was beautiful and remorseful, a sweet pain that he could not bear to see, and he wanted nothing more than to take back his words. It seemed that the damage was already done, for his hand was left hanging in the air as she walked away with not even a glance back towards him. She had walked away. It was one more conflict for him to resolve, a new set of feelings for him to work through. He did not know what to feel.

 

_‘Loki!’_

He almost flinched at the sound of his husband’s voice, for it sounded far too gentle at such a harsh moment in time. It took Loki great energy to school his expression into an indifferent smile, even more to roll back his shoulders and stand tall before his husband, and when he turned to face Thor he saw a curious expression upon the other man’s face. He appeared stern, both concerned and yet calm after his sparring match.

 

Thor stopped before him with a smile. He appeared heavily out of breath, with a small sweat broken upon his forehead, and yet the smile on his lips was betrayed by the sharpness to his eyes. Mjölnir swung lightly by his side, as he waved his weapon in a lazy manner. Loki found himself tempted to roll his eyes at Thor’s almost cocky gestures, as much as he wished to coldly criticise his husband for being so concerned about the well being of a prisoner, but he kept quiet and aimed for politeness.

 

“You fought well, Husband,” Loki said kindly.

 

“You think so? I could have fought better had the fight not become four on one!”

 

“All the greater proof of your skill.”

 

Thor laughed loudly and clapped his hand on Loki’s shoulder. It caused Loki to lurch forward and glare at his husband, but the older man did not seem to notice as he clasped his hand around Loki’s neck. The touch was firm, enough that Loki could not have broken it even had he tried, but it was also kind and warm, so that he found it a comfort. Thor’s expression softened and his eyes held more sorrow than they should.

 

“Is all well?” Thor asked. “I saw pain in your expression.”

 

“How perceptive,” Loki replied. “Do not concern yourself with my suffering, Thor, for if I am to have everything taken from me then at least I still have my pain.”

 

“That is unfortunate, for that is the one thing I would gladly take from you.”

 

“You are too sentimental for a king.”

 

“Aye, but I am no king yet.”

 

Thor let his hand fall away and stood beside Loki in companionable silence, and as they stood Loki looked to the others at the far end of the garden. It seemed that Hogun was busy in conversation with Fandral, who talked at great length and demonstrated sword techniques, whilst Volstagg and Sif walked towards them. There was no time to discuss such matters. Loki did not wish to show weakness, and such a discussion would only end with what Thor would term a ‘tantrum’. They could not talk seriously with others present, which made him grateful for their presence. Sif and Volstagg came beside Thor and waited for them to finish.

 

“You will tell me later what troubles you so?” Thor asked.

 

“I will,” Loki relented. “I will on the condition that you can best me in battle. I watched you as you fought; you have grown rusty and lazy, and I will not be associated with a man that cannot fight as a prince should.”

 

“This is a surprise! You do not often wish to spar with me, Husband! I would that this be a fair battle, so if you are to fight without magic then I shall fight without weapons. We shall use only our bodies. I am sure that Lady Sif will provide a fair judge to our contest. Do you consent, my friend?”

 

“Indeed,” Lady Sif replied with a smile. “I look forward to seeing someone other than myself teaching you a thing or two about combat. I am sure that Prince Loki will be provide us with great entertainment.”

 

“Come now,” laughed Thor, “even my friends bet against me?”

 

“They would be fools not to,” Loki teased.

 

_‘Prince Thor.’_

Loki turned – as did the others – to see a guard standing not far away. They had purposely reserved this time for training, with Thor having rearranged his schedule especially to do so, and so their presence was not needed elsewhere. The guard stood in perfect position and schooled his expression into one of indifference, and even as the sun shone upon his eyes – clearly blinding him – he did not flinch or squint.

 

“The Allfather requires your presence immediately.”

 

“Is that right?” Thor shook his head. “It seems that our match must wait. Will you content yourself to fight against Sif? She will provide you a better challenge than I.”

 

“Of that, I have no doubt,” Loki teased.

 

“I will be back shortly.”

 

Thor followed the guard into the palace. Loki caught the wink that his husband shot him as he threw Mjölnir into the air, so that it twirled ostentatiously, and then caught it with a lazy grip in his other hand. He wondered if there would come a moment where Thor would not strive to show off before him, but he grieved too much the loss of his husband’s company to dwell. He felt curious as to what the Allfather would want, but he knew that it would not be good.

 

He looked to Lady Sif and saw concern in her expression, but such concern only worried him further. Thor told his friends everything; it was likely that they had anticipated the guard’s demand and knew what this concerned, in which case it did not bode well. Loki drew in breath and nodded for Sif to take up a fighting stance. If he could not spar with Thor, she would do just as well.

 

“Would you fight me until my husband’s return, Lady Sif?”

 

“I would be honoured, Prince Loki,” Sif replied.


	16. Chapter 16

# Chapter Sixteen

 

Thor entered the throne room.

 

The guards closed the doors behind him with a heavy sound. It echoed about the room with such volume that the empty space felt all the emptier, and it gave a greater sense of solemnity to the situation. Thor clenched his fingers around the hilt of Mjölnir; it was not that he distrusted his father, but simply that the absence of courtiers or guards made him feel uneasy. It indicated that something quite serious was to be discussed.

 

He could feel his senses sharpen as he looked around the room, as he weighed his surroundings out of instinct, but it seemed that nothing was out of place. The throne room had changed greatly as of late, so that it was darker and the only light source emanated from behind the throne itself, and pillars lined either side of the walkway that lead to the throne. Thor moved forward. The sound of his boots upon the stone floor drew more noise than he would have liked, enough that he had to remind himself to quell his warrior instincts. There had been too many battles lately, but this was merely a discussion between ruler and heir. There was nothing for concern.

 

Thor noticed that Huginn and Muninn were absent from their perch on either side of the throne, which – whilst not unusual – was something that went against what Thor expected. He would be alone with his father, without any living creature present, and so this was not meant to be an official discussion. This was to be a personal conversation, one between father and son, but one of great import and seemingly a matter of urgency. The young warrior questioned what his father could want.

 

“You called for me, Father?”

 

Thor stood before the throne. He placed Mjölnir down by his left leg, as he stood tall before his father, for it would not do to address his king with a weapon in hand. It seemed that his father had waited patiently for his arrival, as he sat regally upon his throne with posture so perfect that Thor envied his composure. There had been a time when Loki would chastise Thor for not paying attention to his father; his once-brother would lounge lazily in some uncomfortable place, whilst he would offhandedly criticise how Thor acted . . . _no longer_. Thor now only strove to be like his father due to his admiration alone, but he was also less inclined to act so without Loki’s encouragement. He feared alienating his husband by acting like the man he despised.

 

“I thank you for coming here on such short notice,” said Odin.

 

“It is an honour to be called before the Allfather,” Thor replied politely. “I am grateful to be given this time with my king, but I must confess to some confusion. I had reserved this time to spend with Loki and my companions.”

 

“Aye, therein lies the reason that I have called you here.”

 

Odin leaned forward where he sat and cast Thor a stern look. It seemed that his father had foregone full formal wear, such as allowing his white hair to fall loose without a helmet to cover it, and his armour was casual enough to allow full movement without restriction. It was relaxed attire for a ruler of a realm, but the look in Odin’s eye was enough to fix Thor where he stood. It felt as if his father were trying to analyse him.

 

“I was curious as to how your relationship with Loki progresses,” Odin stated.

 

“It progresses well. I thank you for your concern, Father.”

 

“Come now,” Odin said with a smile. “It has been three months since you wed, and you have recently been trying to bring forth an heir to our realm, surely there is more to tell than a simple ‘well’, Thor Odinson?”

 

“There is very little to tell, I can assure you.”

 

Thor drew in a deep breath that caused his chest to rise and his muscles to tighten, whilst he kept his chin high and tried to school his expression as his husband and father both seemed to do so well. He did not know why his father asked him such a personal question, for it seemed to him that his relationship with Loki was a private matter, but he assumed that as the marriage was a political one that it was important that their relationship was healthy for the postponement of war and the creation of an heir. He fought back a blush and stood his ground.

 

“I see,” Odin said calmly. “Do I need to assume that all is not well?”

 

“On the contrary, Father,” continued Thor. “I will admit that all was not well at first, but our relationship has evolved greatly. There is still much to be improved, especially if we are to bring forth an heir, but I have great faith that things will soon be well between us. We have managed to become good friends.”

 

“That is promising indeed. It is a blessing that you and Loki have managed to reach a common ground; it bodes well for your union and the potential peace between our two realms. I would ask how far this friendship stretches, however, especially in light of recent events. I am not blind to the self-destructive behaviours of your husband, or to the act of violence that he committed within your rooms, and so it proves to me a great concern to think that there could be cause for strife between you.”

 

“Loki had great reason to act as he did,” Thor said firmly. “He felt forced into this marriage and violated by the attempt to create an heir, as such he reacted in the only way that he could. We have talked at length since then. Loki has many concerns for his future, but I have done my best to ease his worries, and it is still early days. He has lately treated me with respect and opened to me emotionally.”

 

“So you believe that Loki may come around? You believe that he will cease his childish tantrums and soften his bitter tongue? I would that I could believe that. Do you truly think that the man you knew still exists?”

 

“I do.”

 

Thor felt his heartbeat quicken in frustration. He could not deny or condone his husband’s past actions, but he had seen another side to him that spoke of future redemption. It was easy to defend Loki to his friends, even if he participated in their occasional teasing, but he could not speak so freely with his father. This was the man that had taught him all he knew and he respected him too much to question him.

 

It would be one thing to argue against his father were lives at risk, but with no true cause to do so then his actions would only be seen as an act of childish rebellion, which was not something that he wished to endure. He suspected that any arguments he put forth would be blamed upon Loki’s influence, which would only make his husband’s life harder in the aftermath. Thor knew that any hope for change within Loki rested upon a change in how he was treated, for what he needed most was patience and understanding, and so cold accusations would only make matters worse.

 

Odin drew in a sigh that sounded like a hiss of breath. He sat back and moved his leg, although in such a way that Thor was reminded of his husband and how he was prone to the same movements when lost in contemplation. He gave a rather curious look to Thor, one that struck him as both chastising and saddened, as if he had seen something in his son that struck him as distasteful. Odin spoke with a voice that was as heavy as it was full of concern, and Thor knew that he had no choice but to listen.

 

“You hold more hope than I,” Odin confessed. “You take after your mother; you have her endless optimism and undying loyalty, and yet I can not help but fear that your feelings towards Loki have changed. I seek to know what you feel concerning Loki Laufeyson. It is my concern that you have succumb to his emotional manipulations.”

 

“You think that I know not what I feel, that Loki would _manipulate_ me?”

 

“He has done so in the past, of that you cannot deny.”

 

It was true that Loki had often manipulated him growing up, especially so in the recent years since his decline into depression, and so Odin was justified in assuming the worst. Loki had tried to convince him to destroy Jotunheim, just as he had tried to use Jane against him, but Thor had begun to see small changes in his husband lately. They were subtle and unseen to many others, and Loki would have refused to acknowledge them if confronted, but they were there and undeniable.

 

He was not foolish enough to think Loki redeemed or healed. He did not yet forgive Loki for his cruel actions, but he did see something within the other that spoke of forgiveness within the future. He saw something that gave him hope and made him feel grateful for this chance that Loki had to make amends, to prove his worth to all those that had once doubted him. He knew what he felt, but it was no manipulation.

 

“No, that I cannot deny,” Thor admitted. “I simply know that the man he is today is not the man that he was yesterday, nor will it be who he is tomorrow. I do not know how I feel for Loki, but I will not speculate aloud, Father. If what I feel is something more, as you so imply, then I will speak those words to Loki before anyone else.”

 

“Is that so? You disappoint me, Thor.”

 

The silence that followed made Thor uncomfortable, for long conversation had been a chore for him at the best of times, but to be confronted with such quiet worried him. He could not fight his way out of this, nor could he shout or complain, and so he was left in the control of Odin Borson. He had to defer to his judgement and wait for him to speak. He was not aware of what he had done to offend his father, but that he could disappoint such a great man hurt him. He only sought to make his father proud.

 

“I had hoped that your eye would turn to someone worthy of your affections,” Odin said sadly. “There are many strong maidens in our realm that are suitable for a prince, including those that have fought alongside you in battle, that have stood by your side without any promise of courtship. Their selflessness is commendable.”

 

“Their strength also. Lady Sif is my friend and nothing more.”

 

“She is not more as you chose for her not to be so.”

 

“Aye, now it _cannot_ be so.”

 

Odin gave a small smile. It caused Thor to tense his body and yearn for the touch of Mjölnir, as his ire had risen and his patience wore thin. These felt like complaints and questions that should have been raised when the marriage was first announced, not now when there was nothing to be done, but then that had been exactly what Loki had pleaded for since the very start: answers.

 

Thor had ignored his husband out of a belief that all would be well, but it seemed that his father shared with Loki a need to know every detail, to know what the future would bring and how. Thor found himself ignorant to every question. It had started with an idea by Frigga, a law discovered in an old book and a weak precedent set by a past king, and Thor had agreed out of a need to protect his then brother. He had not thought that there would be need for an heir, let alone how it would be raised, and now there were more problems than could be counted. Now it was too late.

 

The original plan had been to maintain a platonic relationship and annul when the war came, but all that had changed when Thor had brought Jane to their realm. He wished that he had thought ahead. He wished that his father’s dream of an annulled marriage and the start of a new one to Sif – or perhaps Jane – could come true, but it could not and nor would he have it any other way. It may have been wrong to be content with his situation, but he was. He would not marry any other.

 

“I would rather have had Lady Sif by your side in these troubled times than Loki,” continued Odin. “Sif is strong, courageous and knows her place. I would trust her to put the well being of our realm before all else, to stand by our prince’s side and prove him a powerful companion, and in turn to produce hardy _Asgardian_ young. I cannot say the same of Loki. You should be careful to whom you give your heart.”

 

“The marriage is complete, Father! It cannot be annulled now!”

 

“So you stay married to this man as there is no other choice open to you? Do you mean to say that you are by his side out of obligation alone? No, Thor, I see the way you look at Loki and hear the way you speak to him. You are a foolish man.”

 

“I have grown, Father, I am no longer the boy that I once was, the boy that in his youth courted battle and sought for bloodshed! I do not deny that this marriage may have begun out of duty alone, that there was nought but a platonic love, but what of it if those feelings have grown? Surely it is better for me to find love where I can have it, than to instead live fawning for what I seek in places that I cannot go?”

 

“So you love Loki, is that it?”

 

Thor took a step back. He drew in breath and raised his hand high, then shook it several times before he brought it down by his side. There was a smile to his lips that was dark and insincere, whilst his head shook slightly from side-to-side as if he sought to shake from his mind dark thoughts, but through this he remained silent and said nothing. It was true he loved Loki, but that was not what his father wanted to know: he wanted to know if he were _in love_ with Loki.

 

“I do not know,” Thor admitted.

 

“Then tell me what you _do_ know, my son.”

 

“I know only that this marriage is final and so such speculation is useless. I would ask why this matters, Father. What reasons have you to call my husband’s trustworthiness into question? What reasons have you try to cause strife between us?”

 

“We are currently in talks with Jotunheim.”

 

Thor looked up to Odin with an expression of surprise. This was not what he expected to hear, and yet the promise of a potential war caused his muscles to tighten and a smile to pull at his lips. It was hard to quell the warrior’s lust for battle and yet he had learned from these past few years. It would be difficult to go to war against a people that shared their blood with his husband, the man with which he had been raised.

 

It was potentially good news, for if the war came soon then it would give Loki a chance to prove his worth and win back his freedom, but if these talks lasted too long then an heir would arrive before the first piece of bloodshed. Thor wanted to teach the Jotun warriors a lesson for daring to come to Asgard with the threat of war, but he could understand their reasons, for Loki and Thor had killed many of their kind between them. The only surprise was that this threat of war had not come sooner.

 

“I have spoken to an emissary from their realm,” Odin said. “He has come on behalf of their new king. These talks have not been easy, for their demands are high and our patience is low, but we have listened with the respect that their cause deserves. I have made the point that we have already sacrificed much by marrying one of their own into our fold, but this does not sate them. These talks may last for a long while yet.”

 

“What has this to do with my husband?”

 

“It has _everything_ to do with your husband! I had been tolerant to this idea of a marriage, for it provided a convenient solution to an enduring problem within our realm, but so far it has brought more problems than it has solved! Do you think that Loki can be trusted should war break out upon our doorstep? These are his people and his race! He has no loyalty towards you, towards his realm, or towards his _king_!

 

“Loki would betray us in an instant were it to guarantee him the freedom that he so craves, and that is not to mention that he is an heir to Laufey! Do you not think that the throne of a realm will be infinitely more appealing than the life of a prince consort? What is worse is that you have _fallen_ for him! Your love has blinded you to the threat that he poses! Do not think me so old as to be naive, for I know what manipulations lovers may use to bend another’s will! It is possible that Loki will betray us, and so you must keep your wits about you! Do not be so blinded!”

 

“I should open my eyes and close my heart, is that it?” Thor shouted. “Loki abhors the Jotun race! He tried to murder the very people that gave him life! He was willing to commit _genocide_ due to his hatred! He will not betray us when it is a choice between those that raised him and those that he loathes with every drop of blood in his veins!”

 

“Aye, I will admit that the hatred that he harbours in his heart was taught to him by our people, but the choice for him to commit such acts was his and his alone! He would kill them and he would kill you too, were it to suit him such!”

 

“He did not seek to kill them out of anger, but merely to please you!”

 

“Then he knows not what it means to be an Asgardian!”

 

“He is my husband!”

 

“He is a Jotun!”

 

Thor let out a sound between a growl and a scream. He turned his back upon his father and stared hard at the floor, which was but a blur in his rage. He could hear his heartbeat loudly within his ears, he could feel the way his body ran both hot and cold, and his breathing ran so shallow that he could barely control it. He would have warned any other man of his rage. He may have come to blows with any other man.

 

He turned around and saw that his father wore the same expression of anger, with his complexion reddened with the sheer venom and force with which he had spoken, and Thor was certain that he could see a small tremble to the older man’s hand. The tension in the air was palpable. Thor had great arguments with his father in the past, some that had grown almost violent and on one occasion had come to blows, and yet never had he ever felt so livid as he had in that moment. This was not an insult against himself, but against Loki. It was an insult against his _husband_.

 

“You will dismiss Loki?” Thor asked. “You will deny him the rights owed to him by our people? I was raised alongside him, I fought beside him, and I know him as I have known no other! If you accuse him of treason, you shall force his hand and carve his path! I once called you a fool and I had been wrong, will you prove me right now?”

 

“ _Silence!_ You will respect your king and your father. I thought that perhaps you had learned your place and gained some respect, but it seems that my belief in you was premature. You will hear me out, Thor, for I have solution of benefit to us both.”

 

“What would that be, Father?”

 

Odin stood at that moment. He walked down towards his son and touched his shoulder. No sooner had Odin laid his hand upon the body of the other did he raise it immediately, so that the touch was but a fleeting one, and Thor noted that he had not walked all the way down the stone steps. He stood purposely a few steps above Thor. It served as a reminder of Thor’s place, for he was not king – not yet – and so he had not the authority to go against his father. Thor held his tongue.

 

“I recommend an annulment,” Odin said firmly. “It would best to end the marriage now before an heir comes. You will then be free to marry whomsoever you deem worthy, whilst removing the possibility of Loki betraying you in the upcoming war.”

 

“The marriage has been consummated,” Thor countered. “It has been three months since we have been wed. There are no grounds for an annulment. It cannot be done.”

 

“There are loopholes and bylaws, ways to get around such a thing.”

 

“I am sure that if Loki were here, he would question why this is the first time that we have heard this,” said Thor sceptically. “I know that the will of the Allfather is final, but even he cannot do the impossible. It matters not. I do not consent to such a thing! I will stay by Loki’s side until a time that my husband explicitly wishes otherwise.”

 

“It seems that Loki has imparted some wisdom to you. I must say that I am impressed that you would think of such things, although I urge you to part from Loki now, whilst you can. Regardless of whether you wish to part from him, I will test his loyalty.”

 

“You would test his loyalty how?”

 

The smile on Odin’s lips had left him completely. It was the most telling sign that he said what he did in all seriousness, that his words were sincere and meant as an option for Thor to consider. Odin stepped down the last few steps so as to stand on level with his son. Thor was grateful for his father to stand beside him as an equal, but – as equal as they were on footing – they were not equal with their thoughts and feelings.

 

There was a darker side to Odin. He wondered if perhaps his husband had seen this side all along, but then Loki was not one to consider people in terms of grey; it was likely that the other man had always seen this side to their king, but he had blinded himself to all good in the process. Thor had to remind himself that it was not always possible to consider personal feelings when war and politics were at stake, and so he remained patient, even as his husband was insulted by the man whose opinion he treasured most in all nine realms. He looked his father in the eye and stayed strong.

 

“I have many ideas in mind, Thor,” Odin said evasively.

 

“Is that so? I do not deny that my trust for Loki is thin,” Thor answered. “He has acted irresponsibly since our marriage and without forethought. I also cannot deny that I have done wrong myself. I have lived only for the moment and never questioned my actions, for this we have both suffered. I will not test his loyalty, however.”

 

“I expected better of you, my son. Will you truly lie with a man that you cannot trust? Shall you sleep beside him and bear your soul to him, knowing that he has done nothing to prove his loyalty? I would test him. I will see whose side he is on.”

 

“Aye? I will not be a part of this!”

 

Odin turned upon his son with a loud snarl. It nearly forced Thor to step back, for the last time that he had seen such anger had been the time when he had found himself cast in exile to Midgard. He feared his father’s reaction to his refusal, but he knew that he could act in no other way without betraying the duties that he owed to Loki. Thor stood firm. It was difficult to disobey his father, but there was no other choice.

 

“I do not need your consent, Thor. I am your king!”

 

It was true: Odin Borson was their king. Thor knew that he had been out of line to speak as he had, for this was the man that held the power of the realm in his hand, and yet he could not help but feel the fury course through him. He knew that by disobeying he failed as both as a son and a subject, that everything he had been taught to be since childhood was now ignored, and he remembered strongly how by acting out before he had been punished. The Allfather’s will was absolute. His father deserved respect, and yet Thor found himself cleft atwain with doubt and confusion.

 

There was a part of him that wished that Loki had never acted as he had during Thor’s exile, that he had remained the intelligent and wise son that he had been considered, for then perhaps they could have remained brothers and Loki may have ruled in his stead, if – as Thor believed – his father truly had considered both sons equal. Thor feared that he could not balance the duties between his family and realm as his husband and father could. He feared that he was not ready to rule his people.

 

“Do as you see fit,” Thor said, “but you will remember that Loki is my husband! I do not wish to have this discussion! Forgive me, Father, but I am too angry to continue this thread of discourse. I would ask that you do not mention this to me again.”

 

“Very well. You are dismissed.”

 

“I thank you.”

 

Thor walked brusquely out of the throne room. He thought heavily on Loki, for he wondered what duty and loyalty he owed the other man. Could it be that his father endured such conflict during the course of his reign? He knew not what situation could lead to his father forced to choose between realm and wife, but he wondered how Odin would choose. Did the duty to his realm win out every time?

 

The doors to the throne room slammed closed behind Thor, which would no doubt signal his dismay to his father clearer than any cold words ever would. He allowed himself a moment to fall back against the doors, where he ran his hand across his face, but it seemed that he could not fully collect his thoughts in the heat of what he felt. He loved Loki, although to what extent he could not say, but he knew that it mattered not, for what mattered was that he had pledged his life to the other. He owed him honesty and trust, even if the other was not ready to give that in return.

 

There was the hope that he could choose both his realm and his husband, that there would be no need to choose between the two, but there was a war imminent and their father was right . . . Loki could not yet be trusted. It would not be fair upon Loki to tell him of the Allfather’s concerns, but Thor needed the reassurance of his husband, to be reminded of his presence and to know that he was okay.

 

He needed Loki.

 

 


	17. Chapter 17

# Chapter Seventeen

****

Loki stood behind the pillar.

 

It surprised him how easy it was to hide. The restriction upon his magic had been difficult to endure at first, for even in his cell he had been given full reign of his power, and so the first few weeks of his release had left him feeling castrated. That feeling of powerlessness had only grown in the past two months. It had been difficult to lie with Thor almost daily in that time. Loki began to long for solitude.

 

He needed a chance to collect his thoughts, for the past four months of marriage had been more difficult than he had anticipated, especially since the order to create an heir had come into place. It was true that his every moment had been spent at Thor’s side, which – as much as he had come to tolerate and appreciate Thor’s presence – still felt an invasion upon his privacy. The only blessing came from how Thor had spent much time in the past month in meetings with the Allfather, as well as in battle in other realms, although even that had not left Loki with time alone.

 

Loki was under a constant watchful eye.

 

It seemed that the Allfather still did not trust Loki to wander the halls alone, and so his every move was followed by several guards that seemed to rotate on an irregular basis, perhaps so as to make manipulation harder to achieve. These past four months with the guards and his reduced magic had enabled him to learn more about the palace than he otherwise had reason to learn. He had found secret corners and disused rooms. He had learned which areas were darker than others and which halls would echo words more than others. He had learned how to walk unseen without illusions.

 

_‘Surely you have heard the rumour?’_

Loki wished to move from his place to see around the corner, but the pillar obstructed his body perfectly and left him in a great space of shadow. The five guards that had followed him had lined up alongside the wall to his right, leaving them out of sight to those around the corner of the hallway, and for once Loki found himself admiring the stretch of pillars that lined every aisle. He could hear the three servants’ conversation well, for they did little to cover their voices in their supposed privacy.

 

 _‘You should know better than to listen to rumours,’_ said the older male. _‘The guards are sworn to secrecy, the nobility will not confide in our class, and so where do you suppose such secrets stem from? I will tell you: bored mouths and tired minds.’_

_‘I do not think it is all merely idle talk,’_ said a third voice. _‘We servants see more than what our masters assume. Do you really mean to tell me that all such talk is merely idle? I have seen far more than I would wish to and heard more than I would dare repeat. I for one would be interested in such a rumour, especially if it concerns the prince, it is common knowledge he is both a Jotun and argr.’_

_‘Hold your tongue,_ _Rúna,’_ said the man. _‘He deserves much respect.’_

Loki made a note to remember the man’s name once uncovered, for he would be sure to slip a sufficient monetary bonus his way. The woman named Rúna, along with her younger male companion, appeared less compassionate to his plight. They spent their time gossiping instead of cleaning. Loki had often listened to others growing up, for it helped him maintain his position within the palace and remain ahead of competition, but this was the first time in a long while that he had stooped to listen to servants.

 

_‘You mean to say that you would trust a Jotun as our prince consort?’_

_‘Aye,’_ said the older man. _‘It seems that our king trusts Prince Loki to be our prince, so therefore I trust in his judgement and trust our prince in turn. Do you mean to tell me that you know more than our king? You assume to think him fallible and your judgement superior? That is vanity, Rúna, for which you could be flogged.’_

_‘You worry too much, Sveinn,’ came the first voice._

_‘Sveinn is an old man, that is what they do.’_

_‘Well, I still have a rumour to tell!’_

One of the guards made to step away from his perch, but Loki raised his hand from across his chest to signal him to stop. Yes, what the two younger servants said was treason to the crown, as well as being offensive to both himself and the Allfather, but he would hear what they had to say. He wanted to know what the masses thought of him. It would help to know how he was seen in order to know what influence he held.

 

The guard nodded and took a step back. Loki returned his hand to its place, where he folded his arms elegantly, and rested his back against the pillar as he stood. He raised a leg to rest his foot upon the stone, but kept his head low and closed his eyes so as not to distract himself from the conversation. The truth was that he had not meant to wander aimlessly these halls or to eavesdrop in such a common way, for he had only left his rooms to search for one particular person, and yet he found this diversion to be far more amusing than any of his books could have provided.

 

 _‘Tell your rumour,’_ Sveinn snapped. _‘I’ll have no part of it. Prince Loki was the only one willing to take pre-emptive measures against Jotunheim, a prince willing to use his wits in battle, and you forget that he was raised Asgardian. If it were not for the marriage, I doubt we would know that he was a Jotun. You would not insult him then.’_

_‘You talk too much,’_ Rúna said. _‘Tell me what you heard, Ari.’_

_‘I’m not sure that I should now. Still, they say that the princes have been actively trying to bring forth an heir for two months, at least when Prince Thor is not out in battle. Apparently our prince’s seed took: Prince Loki is with child.’_

_‘Must you word that so crudely, child?’_ Sveinn chastised.

 

Loki was grateful for the sworn silence of the guards. He did not wish for such news to be spread around the palace grounds, especially when his husband or father-in-law may hear of it, but if the servants already spoke of such things then it was possible that many of Loki’s peers already knew. He drew in a deep breath and counted it lucky that for many the servants were merely pieces of background furniture.

 

 _‘It is true, I am sure!’_ Ari continued. _‘He has put on weight.’_

_‘He spent nearly a year in a cell. I would eat a lot too were I released after that,’_ Sveinn continued. _‘You should keep your mouth closed, unless you want those lips of yours sewn shut. You cannot know about our prince’s health, you are no healer, and I doubt that even you have the power of foresight.’_

_‘That is true,’_ Rúna interrupted, _‘it is probably a blessing that this is just a rumour in any case; after all, I would not want a half-Jotun child born of an ergi to rule us. Can you envision such a thing?’_

_‘I doubt Ari would see much wrong with being an ergi.’_

_‘I can hear you, you know!’_

Loki stepped out. He moved slowly and purposefully, as he swung one leg before in a rather melodramatic and pantomimed way. The smile on his lips was strained, whilst his arms fell from his chest and his hands fell behind his back to clasp themselves together, and he kept his head low as if he were lost in contemplation. He stepped into the centre of the new hallway and stood before them tall and proud as a royal should. 

 

The three servants fell to their knees before Loki, each one with a varying look of both fear and respect. It seemed that the youngest – the boy that had heard such a rumour – was barely old enough to be working at all, which did much to explain why he appeared to be the most scared of those present, and his expression further paled when the guards from the adjoining corridor joined Loki. Loki stood with legs apart and gave a harsh exhale of breath, before he nodded in the direction of the guards; the guards signalled for the three servants to stand before their prince.

 

They kept their heads low and made sure not to make eye contact with Loki, but Loki could see the clear look of frustration and slight disgust upon the girl’s face. It seemed that the Allfather had been right when he had come to his cell those few months ago, that their people were divided in opinion upon Loki and his place within their realm, but it was still possible in time to win back their favour.

 

“How interesting,” Loki said coldly, “it seems that you know more of my condition than I do. I wonder how you came about such information. I would be glad to meet this source of all knowledge, for it seems I could learn much about my body.”

 

“Prince Loki,” Sveinn said carefully, “I apologise for –”

 

“No need, you will be rewarded for your loyalty. You have spoken with great respect concerning your royal family; such consideration will be made an example, just as such disloyalty and disrespect towards our Allfather’s judgement will be met with kind. Ari and Rúna, you shall be flogged for your insolence. That is all.”

 

The faces of the young boy and girl fell. It seemed that the girl was well acquainted with punishment, for there was little sign of fear aside from a slight widening to her eyes. The boy – instigator of such a rumour – instead paled instantly and trembled his lip, proving that he was nothing more than a babe barely from his mother’s breast. He looked pleadingly to Loki with an expression of fear.

 

It was then that two guards stepped forward and escorted them away; those named Ari and Rúna were no longer anything more than an irksome chore, one easily forgotten and one not to be endured again. Loki ignored the pained look of the older man, for he would know well what a stain on their reputation this would be, but the two servants had brought this upon themselves with indiscreet talk. He nodded to the elderly man and waited for him to collect his senses. It seemed that he waited for a command, perhaps for the order of the flogging to be revoked. He stood still. 

 

“You are dismissed,” said Loki firmly.

 

“Yes, Prince Loki.”

 

He watched as the man scurried away along the corridor. It was only a few seconds before Loki found himself alone with but three guards behind him, and the memory of those servants etched into his mind. He knew that their words should have meant little to him, especially when no royal or noble would even entertain such gossip, but it worried him to think that such a divide existed in public opinion.

 

It was a relief to know that some of their people still spoke kindly of him, but it was still a concern that there were those that looked coldly upon him. He did not wish to be seen as a Jotun, as a wolf in sheep’s clothing, for such lack of trust would undermine his authority. It would be possible to prove himself an honorary Asgardian to those that doubted him, as Hogun had, but he could do nothing about the accusations of _argy_. Thor believed that his husband would grow to prove that ‘ergi’ was an empty insult, and in turn he would change their society’s perceptions in a manner that Lady Sif had done for her fellow women, but Loki held no such hope.

 

“Prince Loki,” said a guard.

 

“I wish to speak with Lady Sif,” Loki replied.

 

“Very well, my lord.”

 

One guard led the way, whilst the two others followed behind Loki. He could not grow used to these escorted walks, for they were a constant reminder of how he was an outsider in his home, and suddenly the insults of the servants had never felt more apt. It was not just the lower classes that thought of him contemptuously, but the upper classes that still bound him to chaperones and escorts. They thought of him as nothing more than a traitor and potential risk. This mentality would prove to be a great difficulty when it came to proving his worth, in regaining his freedom.

 

The guard in front stopped before the door to the rooms of the Warriors Three. Loki tried not to roll his eyes when the guard clicked his heels to attention, and then waited for a command to open the door. Loki wondered whether he had been granted more freedoms without his knowledge, such as a command over the guards that had before commanded him. He merely waved his hands to signify to allow him entry.

 

“We shall wait outside, Prince Loki.”

 

“Very well.”

 

The door opened and allowed Loki entry, before it closed firmly behind him. It seemed as if the guards sought to avoid what lay within the rooms, which intrigued Loki for these were not men to balk from confrontation. There had lately been many battles, the most recent had seen Lady Sif barely back from combat, and so it was possible that her mood was bitter, especially when Loki had requested her presence.

 

Sif turned immediately on hearing Loki enter and settled him with a cold stare. She stood before the flames of the great fire, so that its light cast shadows about her face, and the darkness to her features only added to the sense of danger. It was an impressive sight to see her straight out of battle. It reminded him of the days when their small troop would break up and Sif would go with Loki to sneak up on their enemy from some distant vantage point, when they would work together under the illusion of mutual respect. He felt pained to think that such pretence had been the closest thing to actual respect that he had ever received from Thor’s friends.

 

She stood still in full armour. Her breastplate and vambraces were dirtied with both dirt and the blood of her foes, whilst her leathered skirt was torn and shortened by what appeared to be slashes of a sword. It seemed that she had yet to tidy her appearance, with her arms cut and her face bruised, but that she could stand so confident only added to her formidable aura. She was still focussed from battle, for no sounds outside the room distracted her, and she fixed him strongly in her gaze.

 

“You required my presence, Loki.”

 

Loki remained silent for a moment. There was an intense fear within him that she had perhaps spoken to Thor of Loki’s request, and that he would return to his rooms to find a husband curious as to why Loki had suddenly developed a social need for company, particularly that of a woman he held a small rivalry. It was no secret that Sif and Loki had always battled – albeit civilly – for the attention of their prince.

 

The truth was that he respected her for what she had achieved. She was the only person that he could turn to for support, as he could not speak of this to Thor and he had alienated his mother. True, Sif was once his rival for she had been a threat: she was all that he could not be, both feminine and yet equal to those around her, and she had fought all preconceptions and rose above them, whilst Loki was cast with slurs such as ‘ergi’ and ‘lie-smith’. He had always feared Thor casting him aside for Sif’s company as they grew up, but now he had nothing to lose. He was Thor’s husband.

 

“Indeed, I did,” conceded Loki.

 

“I would ask why you wish to speak to me,” Sif said firmly. “I do not object to your presence, nor do I actively dislike you as I once had, but there is no friendship between us and nor do I wish to spend more time with you than need be.”

 

“The feeling is mutual, I assure you. I must say that I greatly enjoy your company during the times that my husband brings us together, but I would not actively seek it unless it were necessary. I find that my books provide more intelligent company than a warrior could. You are the exception to such a rule, but I admit that begrudgingly.”

 

“Then why did you ask me here, Loki? We both have places to be.”

 

“That we can agree upon.”

 

Loki walked towards the sofa opposite the fire. He sat down with a heavy feeling that he could not escape, one that he had felt constantly for the past four weeks. The fire felt unbearably warm against his skin, whilst the light from outside hurt his eyes, and he realised that his body was over-sensitive as of late to subtle differences in temperature and light. He clenched his hands as Sif sat upon the other sofa to his left.

 

“There is something I needs must discuss,” Loki confessed. “I have no one else that I can trust with such a matter of import, but – through all our differences – I trust you enough to confide in you. You will not speak of this to Thor?”

 

“I will not,” Sif said. “I will not so long as it does not pose a threat to Thor or to our realm to do so. You must know that what harms you also harms Thor, as such if there is any threat to your safety or life then I am obliged to tell my friend and prince, but if such conditions suit you then you may speak your mind to me.”

 

“I thank you. I had believed myself alone in this.”

 

“You could not talk to our queen?”

 

Loki grew tense. He did not wish to tell Lady Sif any more than he must, for he did not wish to leave himself vulnerable should she use such knowledge against him. The truth was that he had not spoken properly to his mother in the four weeks since their argument. It was a thought that he strove to put far at the back of his mind, for to dwell on it would only cause more unnecessary pain and suffering, but at the very mention of Frigga he found that his throat closed just slightly and his breathing stilled.

 

He looked to Sif to judge her expression, but it seemed that she had schooled her expression into one of stillness that could put even Loki’s to shame. It made it difficult to judge what level of honesty would be best to use with her, for he did not wish to give away any more than he must, but he gained the impression that she would see past a lie and would walk away were he to use one upon her.

 

“There are things that I cannot discuss with her,” Loki said carefully. “I greatly desire her advice, but – under current circumstances– it would be awkward to do so.”

 

“Thor mentioned that you had argued.”

 

“Is that so? What else, pray tell, did my darling husband say about the issue?”

 

“That you fought with our queen over a matter that he would not repeat,” Sif replied. “Thor believes that you avoid her out of embarrassment, whereas our queen wishes for you to make the first step towards reconciliation. It is likely that both are true.”

 

“My mother wishes for me to know my mind,” Loki corrected. “It is her belief that I need space to come to terms with my emotions, and so she only makes cursory visits each morning to remind me that I am loved, but keeps her feelings on what occurred between us closed. I suspect she does not wish to influence my decision.”

 

“So that you cannot confide in her . . . what exactly?”

 

Loki held his hands upon his lap. It gave him a distraction himself from the subject at hand, but it also kept him steady. That did not stop him from picking distractedly at his palm with his right hand, as memories of both his Jotun form and his evenings with Thor came to mind, but whatever pain he inflicted upon his skin could not purify it. He needed the distraction, but the more he picked the worse his pain felt.

 

The air in the room felt heavier than before, enough that he felt as if he may struggle to breathe under the humidity and the heat. It made him worry, for it seemed that Lady Sif did not feel the sudden climb in temperature, and even in her armour she sat comfortable before the fire. She looked to him with a curious expression, so that her eyes narrowed into a sceptical gaze, but he did not feel hostility from her, merely an interest in what he could want. She sat back elegantly and folded her arms at the wrist across her stomach, whilst she then turned her eyes upon the fire.

 

He did not wish to say what he was about to admit, but he was aware that his options were limited and – of all those available to him – she was most trustworthy. The silence was awkward, albeit a welcome change from the noise of his husband or the rustling of papers in the library, and he found it difficult to find the words he needed to break such quiet. He settled for a continued state of honesty.

                       

“I believe I am with child.”

 

That appeared to gain a reaction. Sif moved her head back and blinked repeatedly, as if trying to shake a strange mental image from before her eyes, and as she straightened her hands also tightened. Loki took some small satisfaction in that she appeared shocked, which proved that he was still capable of drawing emotions from others, that he still had an element of control even when all control had been wrested away.

 

“Do you know this for certain?” Sif asked.

 

“I do not,” Loki replied. “I am unable to visit the healers. It is impossible for me to walk freely about the palace without guards to escort me, and my movements are well documented and reported. Thor would be told at once, as would the Allfather, were I to seek a medical consultation. They would question why I needed to visit, what my symptoms were, and then they would ask the healers for the results of my tests.”

 

“Then how can you suspect such a pregnancy? It has been two months, Loki, since you have tried to conceive a child. That is not long enough for symptoms to show, not to mention how difficult it is for seed to take and a child to carry past the first-term.”

 

“Do you think that I have not thought of such things?”

 

“Then what possess you to think of it at all?”

 

He drew in a deep breath and leaned back against the sofa. It was true that Asgardian pregnancies were more troublesome than they ought be, that symptoms took far longer to show and fertility rates were low, but it was also true that he was not an Asgardian. He turned his gaze to Sif and looked at her with a mixture of pity and disdain, whilst she in turn raised an eyebrow and waited impatiently for an explanation. There was a long silence between them.

 

“I have done my research,” Loki said coldly. “A Jotun pregnancy lasts for approximately six months, usually with the carrier of the child most fertile in the autumn months and carrying through the winter season. I believe that the physiological reason is that the summer months provide more sustenance for child and bearer, which make the chances of survival greater, as does the shorter pregnancy.

 

“This means that seed will take far easer than it would in an Asgardian, for a slightly higher fertility rate is necessary. They say that the infant mortality rate and childhood mortality rate are high, partially due to the extreme climate and dangerous threats of wildlife, although personally I blame the seeming sociological need to abandon any young that are less than desirable in the eyes of the parents. This means that the Jotun race needs to create more children than the Asgardians do, simply out of a need to keep their population at a sustainable level. I do not know if this is true.

 

“The books we have are . . . biased. There are no written records by the Jotuns available to me; this is either due to no such records existing or to restrictions placed upon my reading material, but both options are as likely as one another. The texts that I have at hand are also wildly out-of-date. They stem from before the last Great War, most even from before the time of Bor Burison, and so I am only able to make an educated guess at best as to their authenticity.”

 

“So it is easier for you to bear young,” Sif replied. “I can see why any possible symptoms may prove to be more of a concern for you, but you must not jump to conclusions. If true, this would change everything.”

 

“I am aware of that, but I am no fool, Lady Sif.”

 

Loki closed his eyes and counted mentally to calm himself. He felt frustrated. The servants had assumed to know about his body what even he could not know, now it seemed that Lady Sif doubted his suspicions when she was in no position to guess, and all the while he felt terror that he may be with child. He was scared of what would happen should it be discovered to be true. Loki opened his eyes and forced a smile.

 

He laid a hand upon his stomach lightly. It was not the first time that he had felt the place where the child would grow, but it was his first time to do so before another and acknowledge at large that a child may exist. He did not know what he felt about the possibility, but he felt _something_ and that scared him more than anything. The shock of the situation had yet to pass, so that he spent his time trying to rationalise what was happening to him and searched for answers, but the idea that there was a child inside him gave him something to focus on beyond himself. It was a form of purpose.

 

“There has been a little weight gain,” Loki admitted. “It is not a large amount, but enough that I have noticed a roundness where there should not be. I have also experienced some backache, which had impaired my ability to train, and a mild case of nausea. I admit that it may be a stomach virus, but I cannot afford to make such assumptions. If I am right, I should be between four to six weeks.”

 

“Loki, if you are with child then you must seek the healers! I do not know much about the pregnancies of your race, especially as Asgardian men cannot bear young as you do, but there must surely be a risk of miscarriage or worse.”

 

“I have thought of that. The texts seem to indicate that the Jotun people carry their young well, so that – as long as I eat an appropriate diet and avoid blows to my abdomen – the baby should be safe and the pregnancy less precarious than an Asgardian pregnancy. There were no notes on the effects that mating with one of another race, but I can assume that there all shall be fine. You have not seen my Jotun form, but it is . . . _different_. I believe Laufey may have lain with one of another race, that my blood may be mixed; it bodes well for my child should this be true.”

 

“This is mere speculation. You require an examination to be sure.”

 

“Yes, but what would that bring me?”

 

Loki looked to the fire. It strained his eyes and caused him to wince, but he continued to stare out of a need to test his limits. He needed to know what effect this pregnancy may have on his body, the fear that perhaps his form may change against his will out of this new stimulus and physiological change, and he suddenly loathed that fire more than ever. Jotunheim was barren; perhaps such fire was unnatural to him and a threat.

 

He wondered if the Allfather would allow him to talk to the Jotun prisoners within the dungeons, to learn from them the secrets of what it meant to be pregnant and what he might expect in way of symptoms. He knew it to be an impossible dream, for the Allfather would be a fool to allow it, but at the very least he may allow him access to hidden texts and unseen books. It was not long before he was forced to turn his gaze away from the fire. There was an afterimage of the flame upon his vision, so that he was forced to endure it awkwardly out of a refusal to blink it. He looked to Sif.

 

She looked back to him with great concern. It was clear that she would in time tell Thor of what she had heard; it was not simply out of an undying loyalty to her friend and prince, but a genuine concern for Loki’s safety in a pregnancy that came with unknown risks. Loki trusted her to give him a few weeks to come clean on his own, but eventually she would speak for him if his silence endured.

 

“I had expected that Thor’s seed would take far longer than this to take,” Loki confided quietly. “I thought that the pregnancy, when it finally occurred, would develop much like an Asgardian one and maintain a similar duration. This is too soon! I do not even know if it is possible for me to love this child, what role I am to play in its upbringing, and what this means for my future. I need time to come to terms.

 

“You would pressure me to seek the healers aid? I would not have a moment’s peace! I know full well that the Allfather has spoken to Thor at length this past month; I suspect that he wishes to delay the conception of a child, for war lies on our doorstep, or that he even seeks to wrest from me any influence in my child’s upbringing. I do know yet know Thor’s opinions on this, but I do know that he would not leave me alone were he to suspect I carried his heir. He would fuss and fawn and obsess.”

 

“Thor is the only one that can answer your concerns,” Sif replied. “You would rather continue to lay with him out of duty and lie to him about your worries? You will never know your mind until you know the intentions of your husband.”

 

“I have lain with Thor for this long,” Loki said, “that I do not believe a few more weeks shall make a difference. He will no longer feel obliged to take me once he discovers that I am with child. I do not wish to speak to Thor yet on the matter, for I do not wish for his feelings to influence mine. I would know my mind before I speak to those that may influence it.”

 

“Loki, I will not feign to know how you feel. I have never been with child and nor do I have an immediate desire to be so, but I will dare to say that I know my prince’s mind better than many other. Thor will be hurt that you have kept such a secret from him, but – more than that – he will be hurt that you risk your child’s life.”

 

“I would never risk the life of Thor’s child. Do you think that if I believed it to be at risk that I would sit here idly discussing such things? I know that my husband will be hurt by my silence, but you must believe that I do not seek to hurt Thor! I have always loved him; even when I sought to hurt him, I still loved him. I have still to uncover how deep that love runs, but meanwhile his feelings to me have changed in turn.”

 

“You hide this from Thor out of love?”

 

That was a difficult question. Loki would gladly argue that everything he did concerning Thor was done out of love, but he could not deny that his actions could be seen as alternatively acts of hatred or indifference. He knew that Sif would understand why he had hidden such a revelation from the healers, but it would take time to convince her as to what good reason he had to hide this from Thor.

 

He could not tell her the whole truth, because the truth was that he had noticed changes in his husband that worried him. It had been difficult to process his feelings, especially in the face of his potential pregnancy, but now he had seen the way that Thor looked to him and spoke to him. He knew the way that Thor would hold onto his neck so gently, the way that they had watched Odin oft do with Frigga, and he heard how Thor spoke so affectionately of him. Loki would not confuse their relationship further by throwing an heir into the mix, not least before he knew his mind.

 

“I hide it to protect him,” said Loki. “I will talk to him only once I have processed my feelings. Do you know what it is like to carry the child of an enemy race? This child – this _thing_ – will be half-Jotun! It will grow in a society that may forever fear it, with no guarantee that they will respect it for its Asgardian ties, and when I am still judged now for my blood . . . how can I guarantee its place in society?”

 

“The better question would be why you would care? It is just a thing to you.”

 

“I . . . I know not,” Loki confessed. “I was furious when I discovered what my body may carry, enough that I made to drive my fist into my stomach, but . . . I could not do it. _I could not do what was so natural_! My fist barely made contact! This child may be half-Jotun, but it also carries the blood of Thor and is a part of him. I keep picturing the way it may look with his golden hair, or how he would train it in battle to be unbeatable, or even how it may one day rule this realm as a leader should. How can it be that I both hate this creature and seek to protect at once?”

 

“You sound much like the Allfather, Loki.”

 

Loki felt the heavy gaze of Sif upon him, but he held his tongue. She did not appear to seek to sway his opinion of their king as his mother had tried, but instead she seemed to try to make him realise that perhaps love and hate were not mutually exclusive. It would have been nice were the sentiment not based on a lie. Loki wished that it were possible to grow to love this child, but if Odin – after a millennium – could not bring himself to love a ‘son’ then it was unlikely that Loki would be able to do so either.

 

“I think you may be wrong on that score. He hates me.”

 

“No, Loki,” Sif said. “None of us hated you. I will not deny that the sight of you fills me with displeasure, but I respect you as my prince and as what had once been a comrade. I hope that perhaps we can regain a sense of friendship, in time.”

 

“You are not the Allfather. You know not what he feels.”

 

“I know that he has a far stronger connection to you than any warrior ever could. He gave you life, he took you into his family, and when many called for your head – when your execution should have come – he allowed you to live. It is the belief of Volstagg that our king wished for you to remain imprisoned until the day you learned to repent, for the love of a father can never be destroyed.”

 

“I will speak to him,” Loki said softly. “I doubt that anyone would know more about what love a monster is owed than the Allfather. You will speak not a word of this to anyone, I trust? I will speak to Thor in my own time.”

 

“You know that without your magic you will not be able to hide this?”

 

“I am aware.”

 

He stroked his fingers across his stomach. It was difficult to think about the months to come, especially when he realised that his body would change, but it was made more difficult by the question of how he would hide such changes. He would no longer be able to lie face-down when taken, lest he risk harming the child, and he would need to be careful when selecting clothing lest they accentuate the change to his shape.

 

Thor was not a stupid man, which unfortunately meant that Loki would need to carefully plan how he was to tackle this issue. He would tell Thor eventually, for they had planned this and it was the key to Loki’s freedom, but he needed time to know how to broach the subject. It seemed that Sif understood his predicament and his need to know what he felt about such a child, to determine what he wished to do about his circumstance, for – even though he knew that he must keep the child – he still had yet to know just what he would feel for it and what he wished for it.

 

“I will give you whatever time you need, Loki,” Sif relented. “My only condition is that you will not let this go further than three months without seeking a healer’s advice or telling Thor. Tell me, what did you want from this conversation?”

 

“A sympathetic ear and a chance to think aloud, nothing more.”

 

“I shall never understand you.”

 

Sif gave a sad smile, one that appeared all the more melancholic beneath the grime and blood of battle. It seemed as if she actually cared for him, something that reassured Loki and gave him a spark of hope, but he knew that her loyalties ultimately lay with his husband and not with him. It was a large blessing that she would do even this much for him, for which he was grateful. He bowed his head in respect.

 

“Thank you, Lady Sif. I shall away to speak to the Allfather.”

 

“I wish you the best, Loki.”

 

 


	18. Chapter 18

# Chapter Eighteen

****

“I have nothing more to say, Loki Laufeyson.”

 

There was an almost imperceptible wince to Loki’s features. It was something that was subtle, a gesture so innocuous that it would have likely gone unnoticed by any other, but Odin had helped to raise this man since infancy. He may not have understood Loki’s intentions, but he knew him well enough to decipher his expressions and body language. He knew that Loki objected to his new name.

 

Loki stood before the throne in his usual manner, albeit the arrogance that he had started the meeting with had greatly faded. The small mock salute in greeting, the laughter when he had been chastised, and even the way his eyes wandered about the room: these were things that were now a distant memory as the conversation drew towards a natural close. He stood with hands clasped in front of his stomach, and his green eyes were focussed upon no one but his king and father-in-law. Loki appeared to draw in a deep breath and spoke with a shaking voice.

 

“Odin Allfather . . . I – ”

 

“Silence, Loki,” Odin said. “You asked to speak to me. I humoured you. There can be no denying that I have tried to engage you within a mature discussion, but instead you seek to insult me and undermine my authority. What reason was it that brought you before me? It cannot be that you came here merely to try my patience.”

 

“I had matters that I needed to discuss with Lady Sif,” Loki replied. “It was she that suggested to me that I might benefit from a conversation with you. I had wanted to ask you – quite seriously – about the circumstances behind my adoption.”

 

It seemed that this was a hard thing for Loki to admit. He lowered his gaze so that he was stared at Odin’s boots, but his eyes were narrowed so intensely that Odin sensed a conflict inside the younger man. Loki appeared torn between looking his king defiantly in the eye and looking away out of humiliation, meanwhile his hold upon his hands tightened and his lips became a terse line, and his complexion paled.

 

The question uttered by Loki was a suspicious one, especially considering that their relationship could best be defined as ‘strained’, and Odin vaguely wished that his queen were present to interpret such a query. To Odin the question sounded like an attempt to emotionally manipulate in order to perhaps gain sympathy from the old king, but he wondered if Frigga would see his actions in the same light. The tone that Loki had spoken in had been strained and simmered with an underlying anger, something that suggested he spoke out of desperation and not out of genuine desire to do harm. Odin quickly analysed the reasons that may have led Loki to this.

 

He raised his head and gazed down to his son-in-law. The throne upon which he sat elevated him enough to give him a clear view of the court, something that had contributed to its design, and from where he stood he could see the lines of guards on either side of the hall. It hampered the natural flow of the discussion to know that they would be overheard, but it was necessary for Odin’s safety when confronted with a known criminal. The guards were sworn to silence, in any case.

 

“What bade you come to me for this information?”

 

“The past two months have been very trying for me,” Loki said. “I have been forced to re-evaluate my position within the palace and what it is that I had hoped to achieve from my actions. It has concerned me that as my husband and I try for a child, it may well be that one is soon created. I need to know if I can love such a child.”

 

Odin closed his eyes for a brief moment. It was as fleeting as Loki’s wince had been, but he was certain that Loki had noticed it. He reopened them to see that the other man watched him surreptitiously despite his lowered head, a sign that he awaited anxiously Odin’s response and longed for something that Odin could not give, for no matter what the older man said it would be interpreted badly. He shook his head.

 

“I cannot answer that for you, Loki,” said Odin sadly. “I suspect that any answer I give to you will be twisted and turned so that it no longer resembles its intended meaning, and you shall only take from it what you wish to perceive.”

 

“It is a simple question! Did you ever love me?”

 

“Ah, but that is not what you asked. You wished to know whether it is possible to love a Jotun child, but now you ask if I have ever loved you, both of which are very different things. I will be honest: it is impossible to love a Jotun. They are a race that knows only war, that would cast aside their young to save face, and ‘love’ is a concept as alien to them and as their barbaric ways are to us. There can be no love for them.”

 

“So this is it? This is the _true_ meaning of the Allfather’s ideas of love and acceptance? I was never a son to you, was I? I was merely a – a _tool_! I was just some convenient trophy that you picked up and collected like any of your others! I –”

 

“ _You_ _were as loved as Thor_! You were my son!”

 

“I was a Jotun bastard! Abandoned!”

 

“You were an Asgardian!”

 

Odin smashed his hand hard upon the arm of the throne. He was grateful that his predilection for aggression had not been passed down onto Loki, or rather that Loki had the self-awareness to know that to refrain from retaliation was not the same as to admit defeat. This argument would have become verbally violent were Thor involved, but with Loki it was different. He backed down and stayed silent.

 

“I admit that I took you into my home in hopes that you would achieve what I could not,” Odin said. “I believed that you would grow strong and powerful, that you would rule by Thor’s side and inspire our realm, and then I would reveal to you the truth when you were ready to learn it. You would learn that race does not define a soul. You would prove that the Jotun race _could_ be taught to love, to be better than what they were, and from you they would fall into peace alongside us.

 

“That is what I had hoped. You were an Asgardian for you were true and strong. You were my son and you were loved dearly, but I did not love you for what political ends you may have achieved. I loved you for your emotional strength, for the manner in which you ignored all slurs and proved that magic-wielders had worth, and I loved you for your quick wit. I saw in you a part of myself. That is perhaps the cause of our animosity and the reason for our distance. Your flaws are my flaws. I grieved for you upon your death, but you are still dead to me. You can be no son of mine.”

 

“So your love for me is conditional, is that it?”

 

The tears that welled behind Loki’s eyes were difficult to bear; it was an embarrassingly feminine display, especially upon a prince that Odin had raised with hopes of becoming a warrior, but also the older man felt an undeniable guilt. It was true that Loki had made it difficult to convince their people of the potential for peace with the enemy race, but love was not so easy a thing as to dismiss on command.

 

Odin could not acknowledge his love for Loki, for the truth was that were he to do so then he would be forced to also acknowledge a criminal and a traitor. He hoped that Loki could redeem himself, but he knew the younger man too well to believe such a thing, for this was a man that still refused to explain his actions or to apologise for the damage that he had caused. Loki stood as the antithesis of all that Odin had raised him to be, and his disappointment in the younger man ran deep. He hated Loki’s actions, but not Loki. It was only made worse by how he saw in Loki a part of himself.

 

It had always been the source of their conflict, for it was not possible for two men so similar to not repel one another. Odin hated Loki for the mirror that he held up to him, and he also hated that Loki – knowing the hearts of others so well – knew exactly what was needed to be said to offend and antagonise Odin. Frigga believed this was Loki’s way of distancing himself from others, to protect himself by not allowing anyone close, but to Odin it appeared sadistic: a need for revenge. 

 

“Still you twist my words?” Odin asked.

 

“On the contrary, I see your words for what they truly are.”

 

“I see, so you believe that I hate you and have always done so? Is that it? You are an intelligent man, Loki Laufeyson, so I trust that you can accept what I say to you with the objectivity it deserves. It has been difficult indeed to grow close to you, but this distance you have interpreted as a lack of love. It was never meant as so.”

 

“It seemed that way. Thor was your favouriteand always has been! You mean to say that you simply found it _easier_ to bond with him, but truly you loved us equally? _You never loved me_! I – I was just a thing . . . a creature . . . now I know why.”

 

“If I were to hate you then this would be why!”

 

Odin glared at Loki. The younger man pursed his lips and appeared to swallow hard, and he clenched his hands before him and gave the Allfather a rather penetrating stare. It was clear that he was holding back a great wave of emotion, that there was something within him that he would express were he able, but that he held back for fear of provoking an undesirable reaction. There were times when Loki cared not about such things, but – for whatever reason – today it seemed that he did care.

 

“Here I tell you that I have loved you,” Odin said. “Here I tell you that – even if you are no longer my son – I still love you, but all you hear are words of dismissal! How full of self-loathing you must be, if you still seek so desperately to see yourself as a victim in this world! You seek to paint yourself the martyr, but you suffer not . . . even when despised, you are still loved.”

 

“So I shall grow to love any child that stems from this marriage?”

 

“I believe so,” admitted Odin. “I admit that I hoped no heir would arise. There was the belief that you would prove your worth, which would free you from the need to create a child to cement this union. It is a shame that my son’s bastard offspring provides an obstacle to this goal, but what is done cannot be undone. You must create an heir. You must realise that the wishes of a father conflict with those of the king.”

 

“Is that what you have strove to speak to Thor about? This past month has seen my husband seemingly more at your side than mine, which leads me to believe that there is some political scheme being set into motion against me. Tell me, am I wrong?”

 

“No, you are not. I seek to persuade Thor to annul your marriage.”

 

“The truth at last!”

 

Loki threw his hands up by his side. It was not an overly dramatic action, for his hands – wide and open – were no higher than his waist and the bow to his back was subtle. Loki stepped back and gave a dangerous smirk to the Allfather, one broken by unshed tears and a flush to his cheeks, and the conflict of emotion upon his face was difficult to judge. He appeared mocking and angry, but also saddened and offended.

 

It was common knowledge that Loki loathed Odin for hiding the truth of his heritage, even more so for the imprisonment he had endured on his return to their realm, but more than that was his hatred towards his marriage with Thor. He had married solely to free himself from the confines of his cell. There was no other motive. It was possible that Loki saw Odin’s desire to annul the marriage as a need to imprison him once more, something he feared greatly, but it was also faintly possible that he had grown to accept his new role. It was, after all, just as easy to rule a realm with the title of _king consort_ as it would to be _king_. No doubt Loki relished in his potential power.

 

“You would have me leave my husband?”

 

“I would,” Odin confessed. “The part of me that is father to Thor wishes for a better mate than you could be, whilst the part of me that is king seeks to suppress a potential political threat within our realm, that of a Jotun whose loyalty is under question. I admit that to put you back within the dungeons would be more damaging than beneficial, but there are other options.”

 

“Oh, yes, I am sure,” spat Loki. “You could use me as leverage with the Jotuns, so that they would be free to kill a criminal or enthrone a king, or perhaps you would merely place me under house-arrest so to appease both my supporters and detractors?”

 

“There are many choices available, Loki. I would not limit myself to just a few without giving it great consideration, for what we do with you would determine the response of Jotunheim. You are a threat to our realm. Your magic may be limited, but still I fear what spell you may work upon my son’s heart.”

 

“Your son would never agree to an annulment.”

 

“Can you be so certain?”

 

Odin saw that Loki was hesitant. It would have worried him, for he did not wish for Thor to be married to one that could not trust him, but he knew that Loki’s distrust was justified. This was a man that – out of an inability to face what he had become and what he had always been – had chosen to fall into the abyss. Loki loathed himself. He felt the keen sting of his race shredding the last of his self-worth into unsalvageable shreds, and so all offers of love were treated with scepticism. He believed that Thor _could not_ love him, and thus would believe that the other man sought to leave him. Odin did not wish to abuse this fear, but it was necessary.

 

The very thought of causing Loki more emotional hardship was a difficult one, as this – despite everything – had once been a man that he had thought of as his son, and so he held an undeniable need to protect Loki from all harm. It was necessary, however, to abuse Loki’s weakness. The more that he believed Thor did not love him, then the easier it would be to manipulate Loki into a state where he may reveal his true nature.

 

“You expect me to believe that Thor agreed to abandon our marriage?”

 

“No,” Odin conceded. “I expect you to believe that this marriage causes only pain. I tried to convince my son multiple times to come to his senses, that he should annul this marriage now when there is still a chance, but he has refused out of obligation. He stays with you out of _duty_. You know not what pain a father feels to see his son forced into a loveless marriage, but I suspect that matters not to you, so long as you are free.”

 

“I love Thor _dearly_ ,” Loki replied. “It frustrates me to have to repeat such a sentiment so often to so many! You have _no_ idea what I feel for my husband or how deeply! I would not see Thor forced into a loveless marriage any more than you would, but if that marriage is loveless then it is solely on my husband’s part. I speak sincerely.”

 

“Loki Laufeyson, I shall be honest with you. There are ways – old and in disuse – that can be called upon to annul this union, especially when approved by the Allfather, and these I would seek to utilise. The only condition is that one of you consents to this.”

 

“Do you truly think that you can convince me to consent?”

 

“I think that I can tempt you, yes.”

 

The reaction in Loki was instantaneous. Odin saw the flicker of anger across his face, one that was brief and yet obvious, and he glared at his king in a way that Odin found distasteful. It was almost enough that Odin half-expected a violent outburst, perhaps for Loki to storm out of the hall as Thor had once done, but instead he saw something that he wished he had not. He saw something that he could not forget or ignore.

 

Loki touched his hand instinctively to his stomach. It was something that may have been missed by any other, but Odin knew the younger man better than himself. The way his fingers glossed over his abdomen and then settled low – along with the shake to his hand and possessive hold – indicated something a lot more than a nervous gesture or a digestive ailment. Loki was the sort to unconsciously obsess over wounds or illnesses, so that he would hold onto such things without his even realising so. This gesture – so small and so fleeting – was a damning piece of evidence.

 

“The only obstacle would be if you were with child,” Odin said.

 

It seemed that the colour in Loki’s face drained at once, so only a rather disturbing shade of white remained upon his cheeks. Odin drew in a deep breath to refrain from acting emotionally, for the sight of such weakness made him fear that perhaps Loki was close to fainting, and indeed he remembered such moments when his wife would faint in a similar fashion at moments during her pregnancies. Odin stayed still upon his throne out of knowledge that he could not appear weak before such a dangerous man, especially one that possibly faked such symptoms for sympathy.

 

“You have no need to worry,” said Loki. “I am not with child.”

 

“It is unusual for the silver-tongued lie-smith to be so transparent in his deceit,” Odin replied. “I am aware that you have been actively trying for an heir, and so it is difficult to deny that there is a possibility that you may already be with child. You have not yet sought the help of the healers, why – pray tell – is this? Could it be that you do not wish for Thor to know of your condition?”

 

“I do not know that there is yet a condition for which to inform Thor. It seems that my potential situation is now all but common knowledge; still, I would not speak of this to Thor until it is made certain. There is much that I need to consider.”

 

“That may be beneficial to us both.”

 

Odin watched as Loki dropped his hands by his sides, almost as if by avoiding his stomach region that he could pretend as if he had not let slip such vital information. He stood tall and looked up to Odin upon the throne, albeit he took a step back as if unsure of where this conversation was headed, but equally Odin knew that his son-in-law was the sort that preferred to take a step back in order to better assess what faced him, in order to improve his chances at success and victory.

 

“I fail to see how Thor’s obliviousness could be of benefit,” Loki said coldly.

 

“It is simple, Loki,” Odin continued. “It is no secret that I had sought for Thor to annul this marriage between you, for I have been open about my intentions from the start. It is unfortunate that his feelings of obligation prevent him from taking the necessary steps needed, but I hope that this is something that can be resolved with the right incentive, for we are both reasonable men, are we not?

 

“Thor does not wish to seek an annulment, but all that is needed is for one party within the marriage to seek an end and call forth the proceedings, and – as such – it is possible for you to do what needs to be done. There is only one problem: an heir. A child born in wedlock cements the marriage, which would make such a union impossible to break, and the only way to break such a union would be for you to relinquish your rights to said child. I believe that there is an easier option, one that does not require you or the child in question to endure such a separation.”

 

“It is as you say: what is done cannot be undone.”

 

“Oh, but it can, Loki. It can.”

 

Odin leaned back and gazed at Loki. It was difficult to ignore the fear across the other’s face, which caused Odin to have to steel his expression and grit his teeth to refrain from reassuring the younger man out of instinct. The guards remained silent, whilst the air felt thick and heavy; it seemed that Loki had broken into a small sweat, but whether from the tension or from the temperature it was difficult to tell.

 

This would be a trying conversation, but Loki was a rational man and capable of separating emotion from reason. There could be no question of the child’s legitimacy, for it was born in wedlock and Loki had no opportunity to know the touch of any other man, and this child would have sole claim to the throne of Asgard. Odin had thought that an heir would be difficult to achieve, and with Thor’s genetics contributing to the pregnancy it was possible that Loki would struggle to carry as an Asgardian would. It was a surprise to know that they had conceived so quickly. Odin’s decision to create an heir had caused more problems than it had resolved.

 

The child’s race would also provide an issue. It was possible that this child would do what Loki had failed to do, provide a link between their two realms and cement a relationship of peace and diplomacy. The worry was that with the oncoming war that their people may reject such an heir, or that – worse – the child would become a target of the Jotun, especially as it held a solid claim to the throne of Jotunheim.

 

“It will be difficult to fix,” Odin said, “but it can be done.”

 

“I beg for you to clarify what you mean. Do you mean to abort the child?”

 

“I mean no such thing,” Odin clarified. “I could not – and would not – force you to act in such a manner. I would not take away even the basest of criminal’s rights to their body, let alone a prince consort. You may mean little in the eyes of the law, you may no longer be my son, but you are a living person and a member of the royal family. I would not risk the potential civil war that would be wrought by such a decision.

 

“Thor would seek revenge for the blood spilt of your unborn child, which would require him to rebel against his king. This would be the worst-case scenario: civil war. It would come at the worst possible time, for war with Jotunheim is threatening to break forth within this year, and I ask you to consider how the Jotun race would react were I to force the death of your unborn child. Their opinions towards you may be divided, but they would see the child that you carry as a potential heir of Laufey, or – at the very least – a Jotun of royal blood. This would be the pretext they need to wage war immediately. They may even gain support of the other realms in the process.

 

“No, I would not risk furthering the wrath of the Jotun race, nor cause my people to schism in their opinion of my rule and risk internal conflict. It would be different were you to make such a choice. You cannot be faulted for making a decision regarding your body, nor would such a choice ever have need to come to light, for medical records are confidential and no one need know of the child that you may carry.”

 

“What makes you think that I would agree to such a thing?”

 

“The promise of your freedom.”

 

Loki swallowed hard and gazed silently at the Allfather with a rather indefinable expression, which only caused Odin’s resolve to solidify in turn. It seemed that Loki was indeed conflicted, for he seemed to shift between smiles and scowls at an awkward rate, whilst his eyes began to dart to and fro as if in search of an answer. Odin admired that he took time to consider, for it proved that he held a conscience.

 

The young man clenched and unclenched his fist, before he took a further step back and shook his head with a broken smile. The glare that he sent towards Odin was venomous, enough that Odin had to smile at the fire within his son-in-law’s eyes, and yet there was something about the way he stood – so confident and so strong – that made him wonder what Loki schemed and what plot he formulated within his mind. It was difficult to judge the other’s reaction, but Loki remained silent. He seemed to collect his thoughts. Odin broke the silence in an attempt to sway Loki’s decision.

 

“You will be given your freedom should you do this.”

 

“You would have me abort an unborn child for the sake of an annulment?”

 

“No, I would have you do this for both your sake and for Thor’s,” stated Odin. “You will be guaranteed your complete freedom, Loki Laufeyson; you will be granted unrestricted movement, the right to leave for any realm you so choose, and as such your life will be yours. Thor, meanwhile, will be free to marry one that he loves and wishes to be with, bringing forth strong _Asgardian_ heirs.”

 

“I would be effectively exiled,” Loki argued. “You would not be able to trust me to wander these halls freely, particularly in a state of war, and I would be forced to watch Thor wed another. I would lose my husband.”

 

“Aye, but you are not in love with Thor, are you?”

 

“I still have a right to silence.”

 

Odin frowned darkly. There could be no true objection to a love between Thor and Loki, for – no matter what – they would always have a deep and undying connection between them. They had once been brothers, then friends as of late, but that they could grow from such a platonic love to a romantic one was something unthinkable to Odin. He had expected so much more for his son than what he currently held.

 

“This choice is currently yours, Loki” said Odin. “That will change once my son learns of your condition. The choice shall be then one made between two adults within a solidified marriage, at which point my offer shall be withdrawn.”

 

It was clear that Loki objected to such a condition, for he was a man for whom control was as important as life itself. Loki was used to manipulating those around him, particularly his husband, to the point that – when given the crown by Frigga during the Odinsleep – he spent vast amounts of time desperate to assume more power than he had right. He was sometimes overt, often subtle, but no doubt this angered him. 

 

Thor would be needed to agree to an abortion should he learn of his unborn child, that would take the control of the situation from Loki and leave him dependent upon his husband, and – more than that – he would no longer have his freedom. This depended upon his secrecy. Loki – if not honest with Thor – would be required to lie to the other, to hide the pregnancy and possibly the loss of his child, and Odin wondered if the younger man could be capable of this. To hide such a large loss indicated a lack of trust, but to be open completely would deny Loki his chance at freedom.

 

“I will only grant your freedom should Thor not know of this.”

 

“Yes, we would not wish for the prince to know of what murder his father has in mind. I can imagine well your fear that Thor would deny this abortion, for then you would be stuck with a half-Jotun heir and a Jotun son-in-law. You would truly hold my freedom ransom to the condition that I _kill_ this child?”

 

“I would.”

 

Loki let out a cold laugh. It was petty and arrogant, as if he were mocking the Allfather’s words and daring him to chastise him for the action. He waved his hands in a manner rather like a stage-actor, whilst he turned around with flair and clapped his hands together expectantly, and when he looked up to Odin there was a dangerous glint to his green eyes. Odin drew in a deep breath and lifted his head high in disdain.

 

“Tell me,” Loki asked, “what if Thor discovers my pregnancy?”

 

“My offer would be revoked. You would not be able to make such a decision alone, and I think that we are both aware that Thor would not agree to what we discuss. This is a generous offer and one worthy of consideration.”

 

“You are asking me to do what I cannot! Tell me, if you could go back and kill me where you found me, would you? I do not know how this child will grow, but I know that it shares its blood with Thor and could grow to be a warrior as great as its father. It may have the blood of a Jotun, but it has also the blood of an Asgardian.”

 

“That is true, but what if it grows to be like you? What if it would risk the security of our realm to allow in dangerous enemies? What if it would attempt genocide of an entire race? It has your blood. You were born to die and so is this child.”

 

“No child of Thor’s is born to die!”

 

Odin noted the words of the other man. It seemed that it may be easier to convince him into such actions than he had envisioned, for Loki saw this child as belonging to another. He was merely a vessel, a carrier for the genetics of another man, and as such this was _Thor’s_ child and _it_ meant nothing to him, and such indifference would make it easier to prey on Loki’s self-interests and shallow motivations for control. This would be less of a sacrifice to Loki and more of an unshackling of a burden.

 

“Loki, I will make this clear,” Odin said. “You will abort this child and gain complete freedom, or you can carry it to term and be forced to remain within this sham of a marriage. I may not be able to force an annulment, that much is certainly true, but I can force your imprisonment. What would happen to your child then? Thor or myself would raise it; you would never see it . . . it would never know your name.”

 

“You ask me to kill my child so that I may annul my marriage, lest you take this child from me and imprison me. Do you hate me so much that my acceptance of my current circumstance _infuriates_ you so strongly? Would you rather imprison me than to allow me to continue this marriage, to raise the child myself?”

 

“That is your choice, Loki. Take it or leave it.”

 

“I am to decide now?”

 

Odin paused to give thought. It would not do to require of Loki to make an instant decision, for no doubt emotion would get the better of him and he would deny the request, especially given that he was a man that liked to think through every choice and plan several steps ahead. No, it would not do at all. Odin would gain a more honest answer were he to give Loki time to think things through. He needed time.

 

Loki shook where he stood, so that when he raised his hand it showed his deep emotion and dark anger. The younger man lowered his hand after a short while and clenched it by his side, an act that showed he at least knew his place and held some self-restraint. There was a slight sheen of sweat to his brow, but whether from the humidity of the room or the emotional response to such a choice was difficult to judge. He seemed pained as he waited for a response. It was not easy for Odin to find the strength to answer, but he did so with a confident voice that spoke of a true king.

 

“No, I will give you two months from this date,” Odin conceded. “You will keep your pregnancy hidden from all others in the meantime, for the moment that Thor discovers the truth there can be no abortion. The choice is yours: freedom or imprisonment.”

 

“Freedom conditional upon the death of my child.”

 

Odin smiled despite himself. He knew well that Loki knew not what he had said, what he had inadvertently admitted, but it seemed that there was great promise for Loki yet. He settled back into his throne and made a mental note to cancel all future meetings with Thor, for there was no longer a need to speak to his son when all was settled. He broke the ensuing silence with a simple sentence spoken with conflicted emotion:

 

“Indeed,” Odin said, “conditional upon the death of _your_ child.”

 


	19. Chapter 19

** Chapter Nineteen**

****

“Loki, you must tell me if -”

 

“If what, Thor? If something is wrong?”

 

Loki cast a look inside the healing rooms. There he caught sight of Eir as she scurried about the room with an array of both equipment and paperwork, whilst several of her assistants prepared the tables for their diagnostic runs. Loki knew that the bustle and excitement should have been for him, that it should have been his child that was being examined and eagerly awaited, but he held back his resentment of this fact and reminded himself that he at least maintained his privacy.

 

He could see Jane within the room, standing beside one of the healers with a wide and excited smile. She seemed to argue that the device they prepared to use was a ‘quantum field generator’, that their magic was simply an advanced technology, whilst she appeared oblivious to the rather patronising and humouring smiles of those Asgardians around her. It seemed that their advanced society never ceased to amaze her. It was as if every sight and sound was something new and exciting to her ears, and Loki almost envied her for that simple fact, for after a millennium it felt as if he had seen and heard everything that there was to see and hear.

 

“Loki, whatever it is that ails you, you must know that you are not alone.”

 

 _No, that much is true_ . . .

 

Loki drew in a deep breath and tried desperately to refrain from touching upon his stomach, for – now three months into pregnancy – he was well aware of how he was most certainly _not_ alone. It was still kept secret from Thor, for Loki did not wish to risk the choice of his freedom being made for him, but the truth of the matter was that he had until the end of the day to decide. The longer he waited the more aware of the child he became, the more he felt it grow.

 

There were no illusions to hide his extended abdomen, which meant that he was required to resort to other measures to keep the unborn child hidden from Thor and those with which he was forced to socialise. He made sure in public to keep his coat closed and to wear loose clothing, whilst claiming to avoid certain foods and drinks for the sake of the child he _tried_ to conceive, whilst in private he would only allow Thor to take him in darkness and upon his knees, desperate to avoid sight of his stomach and pressure upon the swollen area. It seemed that so far Thor had yet to notice, even as Loki struggled to hide other symptoms of sickness.

 

He looked back into the room to see Jane. It seemed that her six months with child had caused her to grow considerably, so that when Loki looked to her it was impossible to avoid sensing her discomfort. She walked different to usual, with her centre of gravity now effected, and her hands seemed to constantly cradle her stomach as if she could somehow hold the child within by doing so. He wondered if she felt the flutters of movement as he did. He wondered if she felt its life.

 

“You have brought what was once your mistress to our realm,” Loki said sadly. “Do you truly expect me to react warmly to this? Would you have me welcome her with open arms? I know that this is not her fault alone, nor could you leave her upon Midgard without being certain of her health and that of her child, but it is difficult for me to see her – swollen with babe – and not feel discontented.”

 

“It has been four months since we have tried for a child,” Thor replied. “There are many couples that require a decade or more to conceive! It is not yet time to worry, and if we are still not with child by the year’s end then we shall seek the help of the healers. I promise you that I will not see this marriage annulled.”

 

“‘If _we_ are not yet with child’? You are not the one carrying such spawn, Thor.”

 

“That is true, but I shall be with you through every step.”

 

“That is if such a child comes . . .”

 

Loki touched his hand to his stomach and held it there as if in thought of what was to come, but actually in knowledge of what already was. It would be impossible to abort the child were he to leave it within him for much longer, for it would grow too strong and advance too far, but he wondered if that was perhaps his reason for delaying as he did. It was difficult to think of the creature as anything but his child.

 

It had been a parasite at first; it had been a creature that caused his hunger to increase and caused him pain quite often, but lately that had changed. He could feel it move within him. It was not yet as strong as a kick, but it was enough to make his innards feel as if a butterfly flapped its wings inside him, and with that feeling there came an unexpected emotional connection. This child lived. It was a child of his blood, a child that depended upon him _,_ and he felt a duty to it that paled in comparison to anything. He longed to speak to his mother of such feelings, for she alone could tell him if his affection for a child – one that had yet to fully develop – was normal. It was difficult when he still had yet to make amends with her, but more so when he had been made to keep his pregnancy secret. She could not know of the child within him.

 

It seemed that Thor misunderstood his silence. The corridor about them was relatively quiet and empty, albeit the guards lined up against the wall as a security precaution, but ultimately there was no one but Thor and Loki in that isolated space. Thor – dressed in armour and with braided hair – came before Loki and took his hands within his own, before he gave a bright and naïve smile. He held tight and leaned in close.

 

“Our child will come when they are ready, Loki,” Thor said.

 

“Oh, and they say romance is dead!” Loki fluttered his eyelashes. “Tell me, Thor, do you envision a small brood of our own as I do? I long for the day that we can bring a small Thor Thorson into the world, for what a better name could there be?”

 

“Stop that! You make me laugh and this is a serious moment!”

 

“Our undying love is not a serious matter?”

 

“Not when to you it is not serious.”

 

It was difficult to ignore Thor’s almost saddened expression. Loki would have interpreted it as something akin to wishful longing had he not known better, for when Thor did not – _could not –_ love Loki then it made such thoughts highly naïve and almost childish. He suddenly realised that Thor’s hands were still upon his, with the touch of such calloused skin rather hot, and that he had leaned in so closely that the hold suddenly seemed far too intimate.

 

Thor’s blue eyes narrowed for an instant, but then looked away as if he could not bear to see what response Loki would give. He let go of Loki’s hands softly and took a step back, so that he stood on other side of the doorway, and his smile now seemed heavy and broken. Loki lowered his hands, as he still felt the heat painfully upon them. There was an awkward silence between them, one that was painful to endure, but he knew better than to assume his husband’s silence was anything other than embarrassment at the close proximity. Loki was not sure why that stung as it did, but he blamed the child within him for such sentimentality.

 

“I mean what I say, Loki,” Thor continued. “I worry about you.”

 

“You have no reason to worry. I find that my health is perfectly well, given the circumstances, and it is easier to deal with that woman now that I know there is no affair in progress. All things considered, Thor, I could be much worse.”

 

“That you could be worse is why I worry! I know that you have accepted your fate, but I would rather that you were truly happy than merely contented. Do you no longer aspire for anything more, Loki? The man that I married was ambitious; he would do anything to achieve his goals! Where is that man now? Do you no longer care?”

 

“I care greatly. You have _no idea_ what my ambitions are!”

 

“Is that right? Then tell me why – for the past two months – that you have had meeting after meeting with my father! I am no fool, Loki! He sought for nothing but to convince me to annul our marriage, but the moment I give my refusal he takes great interest in you. Is that it? Do you seek to annul our marriage?”

 

Loki clenched his hands. He did not wish to leave Thor, especially in such a traitorous and underhanded way, but the temptation of his freedom was too strong to completely repress. It was clear that Thor could not love him, so there could be no benefit in remaining married to one that would feel nothing for him, and were he freed from the marriage then he would finally have his future ahead of him. No, there could be no benefit in remaining married, but he would hear such a confirmation from Thor first.

 

“Do you _want_ me to annul our marriage?” Loki asked.

 

“Do not do this! Do not evade my question with more questions!”

 

“You think that I would seek to leave you?” Loki snapped. “It is strange that you ask me to trust you, but then doubt my love for you enough to assume I would seek an escape from our marriage. If you must know the truth, I shall tell you: the Allfather has asked me to annul the marriage. That is all. He sought to test your loyalty towards me, then – once you gave him an answer – he sought to test my loyalty to you.”

 

“You think this a mere test?”

 

It was difficult not to smile at his husband’s naivety. Thor had seen a new side to his father, and he had also learned well of the conflict of duties between ruler and man, but he still clung to the belief that his father was ultimately a good man. Odin was a hero to Thor and it would be difficult to reconcile his negative aspects to the perfect image that Thor had built in his mind. Thor seemed to cling to his ideal desperately.

 

Loki knew that Odin had tested them in order to secure the safety of their realm. That was not to say he was a liar, for their king was a man of his word, and so were Loki to agree to this then he would be guaranteed what was promised. It was simply that their emotional welfare was secondary to their realm. Loki could choose his freedom and prove himself untrustworthy, or he could forgo his freedom and prove that he still held worth, but the risk was that Odin would obey his word to the rule: he would cast Loki to the dungeon should Loki refuse to abort the child. It was a risk that Loki wondered if he could take. He had never wanted this child, but his freedom -!

 

“I would stake my life upon it,” Loki said.

 

“You think so lowly of my father. He wants only what is best.”

 

“Still you cling to that old lie?” Loki rolled his eyes. “He has asked me to appear before him today to give forth my answer. I will not lie . . . I have been tempted to agree to the annulment. He has offered me my freedom, but . . . I do not think that I can! I would not discuss the details here and now, for there is much I would confess, but know this: I do not wish to part from you!”

 

“It seems then that our feelings are one and the same.”

 

Loki smiled at his husband. The corridor was dark and appeared cold by the reactions of those around him, and he could see the way that Thor’s skin prickled and his breath was visible. It seemed that his husband felt great relief at Loki’s desire to stay with him, but why he could not truly say. He watched the other man carefully and saw the glow to his blue eyes, as well as the way he leaned against the doorframe casually with one arm, and in Thor he sensed great hope for their future.

 

“Loki, you must promise me that you will not annul.”

 

“It is strange how you married me out of obligation,” Loki said, “and yet now you beg of me to stay within this marriage. Do you wish for me to stay by your side? Do not worry, Thor, so long as there is a choice involved, I shall never leave you.”

 

“Then I am glad that you have such a choice.”

 

Thor beamed brightly. He did not seem to sense the hesitation in Loki’s voice or notice the deliberate vagueness to his words. The corridor seemed oppressively hot; it became harder to endure the temperature of this realm the further along the pregnancy developed, and it had to be due to his Jotun heritage or the pregnancy that affected him. Still, he found hope within Thor’s innocent optimism and childlike confidence.

 

“I find that there is much I must confess to you also,” Thor admitted, “although you shall never believe me. You will hear me out, will you not?”

 

“Later. I look forward to hearing what must be said,” Loki replied. “I think that for now that it is time for you to see to Jane. She needs you far more than I, and it is time to see the health of your child. It cannot wait much longer.”

 

“My firstborn,” Thor whispered.

 

There was a glimmer to Thor’s eyes, as if he held unshed tears, and Loki knew well this to be the case. This woman – here solely for a check upon her child – carried his child and that child Thor loved unconditionally. The older man had done nothing but fuss and fawn over Jane since her arrival, with his gaze constantly cast to her stomach and his hands finding any excuse to feel the slightest movement. He loved his child.

 

Loki drew in a breath of pain. It was difficult to know that his husband shared a child with another person, that someone else carried within them the blood of his husband, and the very thought of Jane getting such attention was painful in the extreme. He knew that Thor knew not of the child he carried, but a part of him felt rejected nonetheless. Loki wondered if his child would be just as ignored were it to be born, for it was part-Jotun and – worst of all – a part of Loki, and were it to be shunned and forgotten then it would be best for it not to exist at all, and yet . . . Loki loved it.

 

Thor seemed to misinterpret his expression as either envy for Jane’s predicament or a worry that they would be unable to conceive, and so at once he came forth before Loki and placed a firm hold upon his neck. They shared a long look, with Loki’s eyes full of despair and Thor’s full of concern, but the moment passed unbearably quickly. Thor released his hold and stepped back. He gave a heavy sigh and a weak smile.

 

“Come, let us away . . .”

 

Loki waited a short moment as Thor led the way inside. He watched as his husband stood not too far from Jane, who lay ready for her examination, and he saw the way that those blue eyes fixated upon her extended stomach. It was endearing to see the way that he was fascinated by the idea that a life grew inside her, but Loki was relieved to see that his husband’s affection towards the woman herself appeared platonic. He asked after her health, he made polite conversation, but the small intimacies seemed completely gone, replaced by a friendly affection. Loki hated that he felt relieved by such a revelation. He did not wish to feel any more for Thor.

 

It was difficult for Loki, even knowing that the possible complications of a pregnancy between one of Midgardian and Asgardian descent made such a check necessary, and that she was there solely to be certain of her child’s health. There was also a need to make sure that the child would not have their extended lifespan and would be as mortal as its mother. He calmed himself and followed Thor into the healing room, where he stood not far from his husband and gave a nod of acknowledgement to Jane.

 

“I trust that all is well?” Loki asked.

 

“I was just telling Thor about the pregnancy,” Jane said softly. “I’ve had all the checks that I can at home, but Thor insisted that I come here to be certain. It seems that human tests can’t detect things such as immortality or potential strength.”

 

“There is certainly some wisdom in what he says,” Loki admitted. “There are very few recorded instances of pregnancies between those of your people and those of ours, as such it is best to take every precaution to be sure of your safety and that of your child. I think it would be safe to say that no such an issue has arisen in over a millennium. You are certainly the first in some time.”

 

“I am? I don’t have anything to worry about, do I? The doctor in London checked me over completely, it wasn’t quite like I would have expected back home, but he told me everything was fine. He said my little boy was strong and healthy.”

 

“A boy?” Thor asked. “I am having a son?”

 

“Yeah, he’s a boy.”

 

Thor gave a bright smile and looked to Jane. The two shared a look of love between them, for they surely felt complete love for the child that she carried, and in both sets of eyes Loki could see unshed tears. Thor took a step forward to reach out to the mother of his child, but one of the healers held a respectful hand up to prevent him. Loki gave a half-smile as he saw his husband blush and mumble an apology.

 

He wondered if Thor would react with such love to the news of Loki’s pregnancy, for this was not something that either man had wanted or thought possible. There could be no denying that Jane faced considerable discrimination for her race, and the Allfather in particular had made it clear how humans were seen within their realm, but would a part-Jotun be seen any differently? Thor did not think less of Loki for his heritage, but he did not speak for their people. It was difficult to bear the thought of his child being hated, for he knew how that felt, and so he bit his lip in silence.

 

“I cannot believe that I shall have a son,” Thor whispered.

 

Jane smiled as she lay still. The lights above her flashed and moved in a beautiful display, whilst the healers about her milled back and forth and examined the intricate patterns in what they saw in great detail. Loki wondered if the novelty of a child would wear thin for Thor? Did a father have a limited amount of love to spread so that each consecutive child had less and less? The flush to Thor’s cheeks was radiant.

 

“I’m toying with the name of ‘Thor Foster’,” Jane admitted. “I hope that’s okay? I don’t think I’ve seen your system of naming children outside of Iceland, so – as I was the only one with a surname as such – I thought ‘Thor’ would be a nice way to honour his father. He’s strong! I swear I can already feel him kicking. ‘Thor’ will suit him.”

 

“That would be a great honour indeed, perhaps more than I deserve. I fear that my presence in our son’s life shall be minimal a best, and human years are so fleeting that I may forget myself and his life shall pass before I have chance to watch him grow. You must know that I shall do all that I can?”

 

“I know. You’re a good man, Thor. Our son will know that, too.”

 

“My son. I cannot believe it!”

 

Loki winced and looked away. It felt like too much an intrusion upon a private moment, one that he did not belong, and – as he listened – he heard his husband laugh like a child that had just received a great gift. There came a sound of fabric rustling as Jane fidgeted where she lay, and then the voice of the healer that told her that it was okay to sit up. He knew that he was not needed. It would only take a few words to the Allfather to free him from his bondage and he would be free: free from the child, free from Thor, and free from their realm.

 

“Loki, are you sure that you are well?”

 

The words of his husband woke him greatly from his thoughts, enough that it caused him to look up and concentrate on the matter at hand. Jane now sat up and moved carefully to a seat within the corner of the room, where she stroked lightly upon her stomach and nervously watched the healers as they moved about, and yet judging by the smile of Eir it seemed that all was well. Thor stood beside her with great grace. He would no doubt be a wonderful father, but the father he was meant to be was that for a strong Asgardian child, not to a half-Jotun creature. Loki gave a forced smile.

 

“I was lost in thought,” Loki said. “I apologise.”

 

“You are free to speak your mind, Husband,” Thor replied. “What troubles you?”

 

“I simply wondered how your mortal woman could love this child as she claims. I have heard her speak passionately of her work and the joy of her contributions to science, but when this childarrives then everything will be lost. I fail to see how her loss of identity can be a blessing. No longer will she be recognised for her articles and essays, no longer will she discover what has been long lost. She will lose everything.”

 

“Loki, do not disrespect Jane! This is the mother of my son, and – even were it not an honour to carry the seed of a prince – she is still a strong and noble woman. I have no doubts that were she an Asgardian that she would put all to shame. No child shall hold her back! Do you believe what you say? Do you believe our child shall damn you?”

 

“It is a concern, but one that shall never affect _you_ , Husband. It is not you that would have to sacrifice for such a child, and nor is it you whose reputation will be shattered. You asked what troubled me, I told you. What more do you wish for me to say?”

 

Thor looked to Loki with a furious expression. It was true that it would be Loki that would carry their child to term, that Thor would never understand the sacrifice or the responsibility that brought, but Thor saw the carrying of a child as a sacred duty. He loved this child as he would love any other of his blood, and so Loki’s words were an insult upon the children that would be born, an insult too great for him to bear.

 

It was made easier by how Thor appeared to still love Loki to some degree, so he was quick to forgive when he knew that many of his husband’s concerns were valid, but that forgiveness was limited when it was their future child being slighted. Loki smiled as the light from the devices within the room reflected upon Thor’s vambraces, still engraved with the design of Loki’s helmet that served as a reflection of the other’s dedication. It was clear that Thor would put his child – perhaps even children – before all else, even if that meant standing against Loki to do so, but that meant that he would find an abortion unforgivable. He would see it as the murder of his child.

 

Jane seemed to notice that the air grew tense. It was perhaps Thor’s flexing fists that spoke of his reaction to such an insult, or the way his nostrils flared or the flush to his face, or perhaps even the way that Loki seemed so despondent. It was no secret that Loki cared not for what others thought of him, often to the point of risking self-injury by provoking negative reactions from others, and so Jane appeared to answer Loki before an argument could be brought about. It was an admirable level of maturity.

 

“I won’t be sacrificing anything,” Jane said warmly. “I’ve been researching as much as I can during my pregnancy, plus the moment the baby arrives I plan to head back to the States and publish my findings. The baby is a _part_ of my life; it isn’t the _entirety_ of my life. I don’t plan to forget who I am or give up my dreams. Don’t get me wrong; I would lay down my life for my child if it was required of me, but . . . I don’t want to be one of those mothers defined by my child.

 

“I know some people might call me selfish, but I want to be a good role model for my son. I want him to know that it’s okay to be exactly who he is, that he shouldn’t change for anyone, but that if someone is worth it – if you love them enough – then it’s worth the compromise to make room for them. I have enough love and passion that there’s room for both my son and my career. I can’t wait to teach my son all about science and the stars, about the Old Norse mythology and about the truth of Asgard . . . even if he believes it to be a fairy-tale, he’ll remember it always.”

 

“You love both yourself and this child?” Loki asked.

 

“I think I’ve fallen in love with him,” replied Jane. “It’s impossible to describe, but my every thought is about my son. I dream about the man he’ll become and the boy that he’ll be. I can’t wait just hold him in my arms for the first time. I know some parents make their children their entire reason for living, but I want to live for both myself and for my son. I have so much to teach him! Who else can I love so unconditionally? He’s everything to me already.”

 

Loki listened carefully to her words. He had not before considered that it was possible to retain his interests and his studies, alongside caring for the child that he may bear. The attitudes of his people were slowly changing, allowing women and those called ‘ _ergi’_ more freedoms, but there was still far to go for complete equality. Loki would be expected to be the sole carer for their child, or at the very least to supervise closely those placed in charge of caring for it, and he would be expected to act maternally.

 

He envied Jane’s mortality, for it seemed that those from Midgard allowed their women complete freedom in how they chose to raise their children and live their lives. He wondered if he could do as she did. It may even be possible for him to find time alone without damaging his child’s mental health, and surely some time away from the one that bore them would instil independence? Loki wondered if he would be judged for such parenting, before he remembered that he might not even be allowed to raise such a child, and far before he remembered that he would have to abort the child in order to gain his freedom. He realised then the truth: he was attached to the child. _He wanted it._

 

“You love this child,” Loki whispered.

 

There had been a point when he had hated this child. It had been an inconvenience, something that he resented for how it had been forced on him, but here he stood knowing that this child relied upon him and he felt a duty to do right by them. He hated this sentimentality, the attachment he felt to a child that he had never even seen or met, but this was his child and he looked forward to the day he would hold it.

 

“You say that like it’s a surprise,” Jane said.

 

“It is,” Loki said. “I did not think it was possible.”

 

“You’re not very maternal, are you?”

 

“I never believed myself to be.”

 

Loki forced smile to appear polite, whilst he clasped his hands upon his stomach as subtly as he could without evoking suspicion. It was difficult to feel the developing lump through the thick and loose layers of clothing, but it was enough to know that it was there, and he felt curious as to whether the child had enough consciousness to be aware of Loki in turn. He cursed himself for such foolishness and sought to change the conversation to a different topic, as he dropped his hands away.

 

“What of Thor?” Loki asked. “What role will he play in your child’s life?”

 

“Whatever role he wants,” replied Jane. “I know that I’m strong enough to raise my son alone, but I know that he deserves a chance to know his father and I know that Thor wants to be a part in our son’s life, too. We’ve discussed it. Thor promised to visit our son as much as he can, even if it isn’t as often as he likes, what with his duties to you and to his realm, but he’ll visit. You still will, won’t you?”

 

“Of course,” Thor said with a laugh. “I shall not neglect my son.”

 

“That’s a relief! I might have to explain to my boyfriend, but he understands that Thor is my ex and lives far away, and he knows that Thor might drop by from time to time to see our son. Ah, I – er – started dating again. I may have forgotten to mention it, I’m sorry! We dated before I met Thor; his name’s Donald Blake and we actually became engaged recently, and I know he’ll be a great step-dad to little Thor Foster in here. It’s going well, I guess I’ve moved on . . . I guess we both have . . . well, it won’t be long until you both have a child too, from what I hear.”

 

“I dread to think what you have heard,” Loki said.

 

It was then that Eir came close to the three of them. There was no mistaking her elegant demeanour, one that seemed to calm even the most agitated of patients, and her sincere smile marked her as one born for the role that she had assumed. Jane at once perked up and stood to her feet, even though Eir simply took her gently by the hands and guided her back to where sat. It was clear that the child would be born mortal and that all was well. ‘Thor Foster’ would be healthy.

 

Loki let the words wash over him as she spoke, as he worried about the child that he carried. He wondered if their mixed blood had taken well and if their child was healthy, whilst he wondered if his relatively young age and male body would contribute to any complications, and he knew – whilst most of Asgardian blood were able to conceive upon the five-hundred-year mark – their people usually waited until two thousand years to begin a family, at the youngest. It was likely that all was well, but he wished for the same reassurance that Jane received. He wished to trade places.

 

“I should go,” Loki said. “I have an appointment with the Allfather to keep.”

 

“You will return soon, Loki? We have much to discuss.”

 

“I swear that I shall return as soon as I am able.”

 

Thor seemed to read no deeper into his words. It was a blessing as Loki knew that this would be the last time that he would see his husband, and the very thought of an emotional parting was unbearable. There had been moments when he had been sure that he would walk free, with his husband’s wrath upon him, but now he knew different. He would lose Thor, but he would have lost Thor regardless.

 

He could not kill his child. It was enough to make him hate it, for if it wasn’t for this child then he may have bargained for his freedom with Odin, but it was an offer that he could not take. This was his child. He resented it for what it stole from him, but he loved it more than he had ever thought possible. _He loved them_. He hoped that he might be able to bargain with the Allfather to guarantee his child’s status as heir to the throne; he knew that were he to relinquish his rights to the child that it would allow for an annulment, which was what their king desired. He would hold his rights to the child ransom, at least until his child’s safety was guaranteed.

 

Loki looked to Thor one last time. He saw the way that he gazed lovingly to Jane’s swollen stomach, and he knew that the love he had once felt for Jane – even if a mere crush – was far more than he could ever feel for Loki, perhaps even for their child. It hurt Loki to smile, so that what came across his features was broken and pained, but it would be enough to reassure Thor as Loki left. He would not see him again.

 

“Goodbye, Jane Foster,” Loki said. “Goodbye, Husband . . .”

 

****


	20. Chapter 20

# Chapter Twenty

 

“You are late, Loki.”

 

It was difficult to endure such words. There had been no set appointment for this meeting, no set time upon which to wait and plan, and the only stipulation given to him had been to make a decision within the two months given to him. It was true that he had waited until the eleventh hour, as the mortal woman may say, to make his choice, but he could not have made that choice any sooner. It was a life-changing event that deserved great deliberation, something that he could not rush.

 

That Odin would resent him for having waited until now to speak his mind, that he would have denied him even a few days longer to know his heart, was an insult unlike any other. Loki knew that he had done nothing to earn Odin’s trust, but he struggled to believe how such a man – one that knew him so well and had raised him from infancy – could believe him capable of choosing his unborn child’s death so flippantly. He had to remind himself that he _had_ been tempted indeed to give into Odin’s demands; it had offered him a chance at his freedom at last, something that he craved more than anything, but it still hurt that Odin appeared to have no confidence in him, even if he held no confidence in himself.

 

Loki clenched his fists tightly by his side and drew in a deep breath. He felt a brief spark of fear, for he wondered if his doubts about his unborn child would continue the way that Odin’s appeared to persist, and then came the sharper fear that he would likely never have the chance to hold his child, let alone to raise it. Loki tried to still the way that his heart raced within his chest, hoping that this was simply a test of his character, but he feared that it was so much more. He had never thought that he would be put in a position to defend his child. He had never thought that he would wish to.

 

“You are aware that your freedom was conditional?”

 

Odin did not look to his son-in-law. He simply stood regally upon the balcony, where he looked out over Asgard with his back to the other. It seemed that his hands were placed upon the marble banister softly and yet firmly, as if he sought to hold onto it as a form of stability and security, and his cape fluttered softly behind him as a breeze stole across their realm. Loki was brought back to moments in his childhood when he would stand in this spot beside Thor, and be told stories of old kings . . .

 

It seemed that the past had long since disappeared, instead replaced by a king that merely awaited news from a prince regarding a decision with great political consequence. The breeze felt cold, bringing with it doubts about whether his decision was for the best, and as he thought long and hard upon it he wished that he had time to speak to Frigga and learn from her wisdom, instead of keeping her in the dark in regards to his condition. He wished that he had the seeming indifference of Odin Allfather, or the unwavering confidence and belief of the guards that stood to the sides of the balcony, and instead he found himself more uncertain than he had ever been. His freedom was so close to being his once more, but yet impossible to obtain.

 

“I remember well the conditions placed upon me,” Loki snapped.

 

“Then you have kept my offer of freedom free from Thor? He knows not of it?”

 

“It was difficult indeed to hide my unborn child from the guards, from my mother, and from my _husband_ ,” confessed Loki, “but I was not named the ‘silver-tongued prince’ for my voice alone. I obeyed your conditions. I hid my child as you asked! What more do you seek from me?”

 

“I seek to be sure that Thor is unaware of the child that grows within you. Are you truly so naïve that you would be blinded as to the obvious? No, you are better than that. I would not allow myself to believe that you do not notice the suspicions of your husband, but – as you seem intent on playing the fool – I shall speak plainly to you: Thor is suspicious of your current state of health.”

 

“That is impossible.”

 

Loki raised a hand to his stomach. The material under hand felt cool and smooth, something that he relished when his temperature felt so high, but the relief was only momentary as the leather warmed. He thought back to how Thor had raised questions some weeks ago, but Loki had been quick to dismiss them or explain them away, and so there should be little reason for such queries to still exist within his husband’s heart. He reran their recent conversations within his mind, but failed to think of anything that would indicate that Thor knew. It was then that Odin turned to face him.

 

“You have continued to lie with Thor to allay any suspicions,” Odin said calmly. “In great irony, it is this behaviour that has inspired a reaction contrary to what was intended. Your husband would confide in his father much in the manner that you would confide in your mother, as such I am aware as to the inner workings of Thor’s mind. He has placed his hands upon your hips and felt the weight-gain, just as he has woken early each morning to hear sounds of your sickness. He suspects the truth.

 

“It would be a shame for my estimation of you to sink further than it already has, for despite everything I have retained faith in your intelligence and foresight, and as such I do not believe that you would have done anything to confirm his suspicions. It would be foolish to ask you to confess the lies that you have told your husband, for I am certain that would only beget more lies in turn, but I would ask as to whether you have made certain that these suspicions have been alleviated. Thor cannot know. There is only so much that a father can say to put a worried mind to rest, but a husband would know his body better than any other. Does Thor know?”

 

“No, he does not. I have told him nothing.”

 

It was difficult to endure such a line of questioning, least of all in Loki’s condition. The night provided a welcome relief to the unending heat, but it still felt all too hot for Loki to bear with grace, and he felt far too exposed before the Allfather to hide the extent of his discomfort. He breathed deeply and slowly. It would not do to become light-headed at a time that required complete clarity, especially when it was the life of his child at stake. Loki fixed his gaze upon Odin instead.

 

Odin met his gaze with equal focus. He stood tall and proud, everything that a king should be, but the shadowy dusk behind him only added a darkness to his features that made him seem more distant and uncaring than Loki had previously assumed. It was impossible to know whether Odin felt anything about the matter at hand or Loki himself, but if there was even an iota of pain or sympathy within his frame, he hid it well. There was great tension in the air, especially so when a small and subtle smile graced Odin’s features. It was a dangerous expression, one worn by Loki himself on many an occasion, but on another – in such a circumstance – it was especially disconcerting and caused Loki’s face to grow cold.

 

“Still, what of his suspicions? To suspect is not the same as to know.”

 

“Thor is my husband,” Loki spat coldly. “You may take great pride in the fact that he still confides in you, but he will always come to me first and foremost. He trusts me. _I_ was the one to hear those concerns before any other, _I_ was the one to make excuses for the weight on my hips and the bile on my lips, and _I_ was the one that he believed. No, Thor may suspect, but he also believes me.”

 

“He believes you so much that he would go behind your back to confide in his father his worries and concerns? That does not sound like trust, Loki. Your word was not enough and so he came to his king. Thor trusts you like the lamb trusts the lion.”

 

“You compare me to a lion? Tell me, does this make Thor the lamb?”

 

“Do not be flattered. It was not a compliment.”

 

“Aye, it never is.”

 

Loki curled his lip in distaste and shook his head. There was the slight suspicion that – if confronted – the Allfather would defend himself by maintaining that to refuse a compliment was not the same as to issue forth an insult, but Loki knew well the truth. He was not to be trusted, nor was he to be respected, and – above all else – Odin was right. Thor had confided in his father. If he had trusted Loki completely, there would be no need to confide in another, and yet what if there was more to it than it seemed?

 

It would be nice to believe that Thor trusted him, and that in his worry he had merely sought to confirm Loki’s words in case the other man had been mistaken, but Loki knew the truth. Thor could not love or trust him. Loki strove to push away the churning feeling within his stomach, the lump in his throat, and the overwhelming feeling of emotion, but it seemed that the child brought with it an infuriating bout of hormones that could not be repressed. The doubt concerning Thor’s trust was perhaps more painful than any rejection Odin could provide, and so Loki had to wonder if his king’s words were not intentionally designed to cause pain. It was cruel indeed.

 

They stood in silence for a long moment. Loki held his hand to his stomach and brushed lightly, for with such pressure he could feel the forming lump, now halfway through his pregnancy at least. He knew not the gender of the child, just as he had yet to consider names, and yet he felt a connection that he had never before considered possible, one that he could not sever . . . least of all permanently. The feel of the child reminded him of what he had to do. It gave him resolve.

 

“I did not come here for small-talk,” Loki said.

 

“No, that much is clear,” snapped Odin. “Tell me: what is your mind?”

 

“It is my mind to keep my child.”

 

Odin’s expression became unreadable, even for Loki that had spent a lifetime studying the expressions and mannerisms of others, particularly the man that had once been his father and whose respect he strove to attain. He seemed to gaze particularly long upon Loki’s abdomen, as if trying to decipher what kind of child lay beneath the skin and within the other man. His voice was heavy indeed when he spoke.

 

“Do you know what you forfeit?”

 

“I fear more for what I would forfeit should I abort,” Loki admitted. “You cannot begin to understand how much I hate myself for such foolish sentimentality, but nor can you begin to fathom how much I want this child to live. I gave your offer great thought, for I will not deny that my freedom was a tempting offer, but ultimately it is not worth the sacrifice. I am responsible for so many deaths, but I cannot be responsible for this one. This is my child.”

 

“This does not come as a surprise,” Odin said. “I expected that you would refuse my offer the moment that you referred to the child as ‘my child’, for one does not lay claim to a mere piece of tissue that is to be extracted. You are aware that this forces my hand and means that you are to be returned to the dungeons?”

 

“I am aware, but I would like to broker a deal beforehand.”

 

“A deal? What – pray tell – do you have to offer?”

 

“More than you assume.”

 

Odin appeared interested by such a confident assertion. He took a few steps forward towards Loki, so that the sound of his footsteps seemed to break the overall quiet and gave Loki something new to focus upon, and when he stopped he stood tall and regal before the young prince. It cast a shadow over Loki and even the small shade provided him with a little relief from the heat, and – in a fleeting moment of fear – Loki wondered if his Asgardian form would hold strong.

 

Loki tried to appear calm despite his stress, but he knew well that Odin was used to his small tells and would be able to read Loki better than he would have otherwise have liked. He rolled back his shoulders and raised his head high, whilst he kicked one leg off to the side and then brought it back to touch its partner, as if he were in a mock military salute. The smile on his lips was difficult to fake, especially when he could feel the glare to his eyes that could not quite be hidden, but he had enough faith in his acting abilities that it would be enough to fool the Allfather for the moment. It was not just the life of his child at risk, but their entire future and quality of life. He was determined to bargain for them and win them their freedom.

 

“I am willing to offer you the annulment,” Loki said.

 

“That is not possible,” replied Odin. “You know well that a child would cement such a union, and that whilst such a child exists then so too will the bond that ties you to Thor. You would have to relinquish all your rights, you would have to disown your child, and – when you are seemingly willing to be imprisoned in order to enable your child to _live_ – it strikes me as suspicious indeed that you would do so.”

 

“My motives are my own. You only need know that I am more than willing to relinquish all rights once my child is born, and I am fairly certain that it should be quite an easy feat for me to achieve. After all, if the great Allfather can _disown_ his son so easily – _banishing_ them into the dungeons, _denying_ them their status as an Asgardian – then I am sure that I will be able to do likewise. You are the example to which your people aspire, are you not? It is my duty as your subject to follow your example. I will give away my child, which is as you wish.”

 

“The difference is that I always had the possibility for my son to return to me. I had hoped that you would repent after so long in jail, that you would make amends and prove your worth, but if you give up your child then you will never have such a chance for your child to be returned to you. It will be final.”

 

“I understand the consequences to my actions.”

 

Odin stared at Loki coldly. It was enough to make him feel judged by the older man, but – if the judgement stemmed from so calmly giving away his child – Loki would not be able to refrain from pointing out the hypocrisy of this. He smiled at Odin and clasped his hands in front of him, before he then gave a little jump on the back of his heels in mock joviality. There was no doubt that such an action would anger the king before him. It only served to make Loki smile more. 

 

“What reason is there to agree to such a thing?” Odin asked.

 

“I cannot betray you behind bars,” Loki said candidly. “You would not have to worry about my defecting to the side of Jotunheim, nor of betraying my prince and realm, and you could even use me as leverage within this war. You could hold me hostage, use me as a bargaining chip, or even just sell me out completely. The choice would be entirely yours. You could even use me to motivate Thor into being exactly the kind of prince that you need him to be in this battle.

 

“I do not mind playing along, if you wish to tell Thor that I am in the dungeons merely as a safety precaution and to protect me during the war. We could call it a case of protective custody. If that does not suit you, why not hold my safety conditional upon Thor doing as you wish? Oh, that is even if you _wish_ to tell him about my whereabouts. What if his husband was officially missing? Thor would be motivated to go to war to Jotunheim to retrieve me to rescue me, or to kill me by his hands were he to think that I betrayed him. He did promise me long ago – in my cell – that he would kill me if I were to betray him. That _would_ be perfect, wouldn’t it?”

 

There was a long moment of silence that followed. Odin appeared to consider greatly what Loki offered to him, but as he thought long and hard he seemed unable to remove his gaze from the young prince. It was clear that he distrusted Loki. The younger man had always been something of a trickster, first playing pranks simply for fun and later manipulating events for his ends, and so whatever Loki said would be heavily analysed for any hidden agenda.

 

Loki clenched his hands tightly together, as he tried to refrain from the instinctual desire to flex his hands and cast an illusionary spell. He knew that it was impossible for him to cast an illusion, but he couldn’t help but reach for his magic out of sheer habit, and instead he had to simply remind himself that any form of magic in such a circumstance would be a bad idea in any case. It would effectively sign his death warrant were he to even attempt such a feat. It would be seen as an attack against their king, and Loki could not risk the inevitable retaliation whilst his child resided within his body, for any threat against him would be a threat against them.

 

He instead held his tongue and tried to remain calm, for his ultimate loyalty lay with his husband and with his child. The thoughts he once let fester within him about usurpation were long gone, for since his release he had found himself a place alongside Thor and a voice that a few had begun to listen to, and the position of responsibility was one that he had never wanted anyway. He had only ever wanted recognition. Now that he had recognition, there was little need to fight for his place or to fight against Odin, except – that was – where his child was concerned.

 

“What do you wish in return?” Odin asked. “I am no fool as to think this offer comes without strings. I must say that it is a sorely tempting offer, but I will grant you nothing that would risk the welfare of my son or the safety of my realm.”

 

“I want only my child’s safety,” Loki said. “I will only relinquish my rights if there is a _guarantee_ that they will retain their status as Thor’s heir. Thor will be told of his child’s existence _only_ after they have been birthed safely and I have relinquished my rights upon them, for – as you say – this all rests upon him not knowing. I know my husband too well. Thor will prevent my leaving the child, which would prevent any annulment, and that would stand in the way of their assured safety.

 

“I am sure that were Thor to act in such a way that the child would be forced to remain as an heir, for it would be born into wedlock and both our parental rights would remain, but – you will forgive my blunt honesty – I am sure that you would find a way to make life _difficult_ for the child. I even suspect that you would manipulate Thor into another relationship, perhaps finding means to create another child to deny mine the rights that it has to the throne itself, and this is somewhat unacceptable. You _forced_ me to conceive this child, you were _desperate_ for an heir, and I will not now be denied my child’s rights simply as you appear to have changed your mind upon the matter! Test or not, this is my child’s _life_ at stake!”

 

“You wish for your child to remain as heir to our realm?”

 

“I do, but there is more. I wish for Thor to raise this child, or my mother at the very least. If I should find that my child has been placed in the care of strangers or servants, that they are being denied their place within the family, then I _promise you_ that I shall make life exceedingly difficult. You know as well as I that my mother would visit me within prison, for she would search all the realms for me as she did when she believed me dead, and _the very moment_ that I tell her of this ‘bargain’ you have offered to me then it would make life _very_ difficult for _you_.

 

“My way is better for everyone involved. My child will not be able to used as leverage in the upcoming war, for they would be heir to the throne, and as such they would be kept safe from Jotunheim. There is also the fact that Thor would be much better off, free to marry someone that he loves and respects . . . you may assume the worst of me, you may even hate me, but I would not see Thor suffer needlessly. I have always loved him, that much has not changed, and so our inevitable annulment will enable him to find happiness where he can. He never wished for this marriage. Thor married me out of duty alone, but this would fix that. He would be contented finally.

 

“My husband would also be free to visit his son without supervision, without accusations of an affair, for they would be no marriage vows to be broken. It would be easier upon him, upon you also . . . surely you would be far happier were the heir apparent to marry an Asgardian like Lady Sif? There would be no affairs with mere mortals, no ongoing relationship with a filthy Jotun, and Thor would be free from me. What I feel . . . _what I feel is irrelevant_. . . what matters is that Thor is happy, and that my child will find happiness too.”

 

“Do you think that Thor would be happy were you to be imprisoned?”

 

“Would anyone be happy to see a friend imprisoned?”

 

“A friend, not a lover?”

 

Loki flinched unwillingly at such words. It was only a small gesture, one that barely graced his facial features, but it was enough that the Allfather surely noticed his apparent discomfort. He quickly schooled his expression and sent a rather dark look towards the older man’s way, whilst he tried to still his racing heartbeat and moved his hands subtly to his sides, where he clenched them into tight fists. The sky had finally fallen black outside and night had finally fallen proper.

 

“Thor does not love me. He cannot love me.”

 

It was a difficult thing to admit, but Thor’s love for him had only ever been platonic, and with everything that had happened – now he knew of Loki’s true heritage – there could be no romantic love between them. There were no longer any familial ties between them, nor was their blood to be shared, and so Thor’s feelings could only be that of friendship at most, but friendship was not enough to keep two souls bound together for a lifetime. Thor deserved more than that.

 

Odin sent a passing gaze to Loki’s stomach, although his gaze seemed to linger for a moment longer than felt comfortable. He perhaps tried to calculate just how far into the pregnancy his son-in-law was, or perhaps simply tried to envision what kind of child would be born into their family, and as he looked Loki felt too exposed for comfort. He resisted the urge to hide his stomach with his hands, but it seemed that Odin had grown bored with whatever thoughts consumed his mind, for he at once looked away and gave a heavy outtake of breath. It seemed that when he next looked to Loki that there was a deep resignation and sorrow to his eyes.

 

“You have put great thought into this, Loki,” Odin admitted. “Do you realise that this would be far simpler were you to abort? You could walk away. Thor would be free from the obligation that forces him by your side, and you would be free to live your life however you so wish. There is still time for you to change your mind.”

 

“I will not change my mind. I know that you will not believe me, for I have given you little to no reason to do so, but I _love_ this child! I did not think it was possible, but with each day this child grows stronger within me . . . I can feel it moving within me, I know that it depends entirely upon me, and I – I _want_ it! I feel such a responsibility that I never thought possible, for even as prince – as _king_ – the lives of my people were a mere abstract thought, it was never as personal as this. This is _my_ child, they rely upon _me_ , and I love them. I want them.”

 

Loki looked away. It was a humiliating admission, for it revealed far more about him than he would ever have wanted a man like Odin to know. He felt as if he were revealing his greatest weakness, but the only thing that kept that weakness from being exploited was a trust in Odin, a trust that was thin and had long been almost non-existent. The very thought of how Odin felt about such a confession was almost sickening, because he could practically feel the pity and contempt.

 

“You would sacrifice everything for one child?”

 

“I would,” Loki said. “It is perhaps the cruellest choice that you could present to me, but I have no doubt that is why you did so. You have _always_ hated me! I only wanted my freedom, the ability to move without restriction and access to the magic that I was gifted with, but that was not enough for you . . . you made me _choose_ between my child and my life! I – I _hate_ this child for holding me back from such freedom, but I love them too much to resent them, to _sacrifice_ them. I would die to protect them.”

 

“Loki,” replied Odin, “if you do this then there is no going back. You will be placed within the dungeons as you once were, indefinitely with far stricter restrictions, and you will forfeit the rights to your child. You will lose your child, Thor and your freedom. This is your last chance: choose wisely.”

 

“I choose the life of my child.”

 

Odin gave a heavy sigh and shook his head. He turned around so that his back was to Loki, as if he could not bear to see the consequence of his decision. The air felt thick and heavy, whilst the night brought with it a sense of coolness that eased the heat upon Loki’s skin, and as they stood in silence an awkward sense of dread overcome the young prince. He knew what his decision would bring. It was merely a matter of waiting for the inevitable.

 

“Very well,” Odin said solemnly. “I hereby place you under arrest.”

 

The guards at once surrounded Loki and stood rigidly to attention. They waited for a command from Odin, but they kept their weapons by their sides and not aimed at Loki directly, for it seemed that they still held respect for their prince and knew that he would go willingly and without struggle. Loki felt grateful for their small favours, as it allowed him to walk to the dungeons with dignity and self-respect. It was then that Odin lifted his hand to signal his guards.

 

They soon made a specific formation around Loki and prepared to lead him away, but before they did it seemed that Odin had one last thing to say to his son-in-law. He turned around and looked to Loki with a truly sad gaze, one that was impossible to decipher or interpret, and it seemed that for a moment he became lost in thought. Loki instinctively brought his hands to touch upon his stomach. He drew in a deep breath and pressed his palms firmly to the growing bulge, as if to remind himself that the child was still there and still safe within him. It was then that Odin smiled in a mixture of sadness and relief, before he signalled the guards to take Loki away.

 

“You have made your choice, Loki Laufeyson. Farewell.”

 

“Farewell, Odin Allfather.”


	21. Chapter 21

# Chapter Twenty-One

 

Thor struck the wall hard with his fist.

 

It was more than a simple act of aggression or a display of dominance, but rather it was a release of everything that he had felt in the past few hours. The anger, the fury and the _fear_ had been hard to endure, especially for a man who was used to actively solving the problems presented to him, and so to be forced onto the sidelines – to have such decisions made without him – had made him feel _helpless_. They boiled beneath the surface and waited for a moment to burst forth.

 

The stone of the wall had cracked slightly beneath his fist. The impact had bruised the side of his hand and caused a small bubble of blood to appear upon his knuckle, a sight that caused his mother to flinch slightly from where she stood. Frigga stood to the right of the cell with a rather solemn expression across her features; her hands were clasped before her, as if she sought for a reason to keep them steady, whilst she kept her gaze low to seemingly avoid revealing her feelings to her sons. It pained Thor to see her so saddened, but he reminded himself that he had not been the only one hurt by such a decision. She had every right to see Loki as he did.

 

“Show me, Loki,” Thor said.

 

Thor tried to keep his voice calm, but he knew well that it was strained and moments from breaking. He strove to remember that Loki was not at fault, that his husband was as much a victim as they were, but it was difficult to look past the fact that his husband had lied to him and – as such – put their unborn child at risk. Thor wondered if Loki had spoken to a healer in all this time, if he even knew of whether their child was safe or not. It was difficult to believe that he could do this.

 

Loki sat upon the floor of the cell with his legs stretched and his back rested on the wall behind him, and in his lap lay a book that appeared to hold a great interest to him, or at least enough that he refused to look up at the two that visited him. There was a slight smirk to his lips, but one that Thor recognised as something darker than his husband intended. Loki was scared. He tried to hide it by nonchalantly flicking through his book, by the childish smile that he wore, and even the way that his eyes would roll on Thor’s demands, but ultimately he was afraid of what was to happen. He likely had not expected Frigga so soon, least of all Thor.

 

It seemed that the cell was much the same way as it had been during Loki’s first imprisonment, which seemed both an insult and a comfort for the young prince imprisoned. Thor clenched his fists and began to pace at the idea of how the cell had been kept this way on purpose, that Loki had been _expected_ to betray them and be arrested once more, and when he looked to his husband it seemed that he cared not about the state of his cell or his new lack of freedom. He was so close behind the energy-barrier, and yet so far out of reach. Thor stopped before him with a sigh.

 

“Loki, do not ignore me. Show me!”

 

“It is simply a book, Husband,” Loki replied with a sigh. “I would allow you a closer look, but I fear such words may be lost upon you. Now, may you kindlytake a step back? You are blocking my light and I am at the most intriguing part.”

 

“You know full well that I speak not of your book!” Thor roared loudly and struck hard upon the energy-barrier. “Do not treat me as a fool! I have been in meeting with Father for many hours now. He has told me everything. I know about the bargain that he offered to you, the conditions that he set, and what is at stake. I must know if it is true. Show me, Loki. If you do not, I swear I shall-!”

 

“You shall _what_ , Thor? This is not like before. You are not here as part of a betrothal, this is not some sort of perverse courting to see if you would wish to wed me, and so there is no feasible way that you could be allowed inside my cell. I am a _prisoner_. I am a prisoner that also knows you would not have been told _all_ my secrets.”

 

“Aye? I know enough, Loki. I know that you are with child.”

 

“Then perhaps you do know all.”

 

Loki flipped his book closed. It was a simple gesture, but when combined with the harsh exhale of breath it made Loki appear frustrated and resigned. He placed the book beside him with a heavy slam, whilst he looked up at Thor with eyes that shook bitterly with unshed tears, and Thor realised that his husband was pleading with him. It was clear that he assumed the worst. Thor wanted nothing more than to reach out and hold Loki, to reassure him, but instead he settled for resting his open hand upon the barrier and leaning his head against it. Loki smiled in response.

 

“Show me,” Thor said. “Please.”

 

Loki responded to the request. Thor suspected that it was due to the inevitability of the situation rather than any good manners, but – regardless – Loki stood slowly and carefully. He seemed unsteady on his feet, but he quickly regained balance and gave a hard look to his husband. It was clear that Loki resented being forced to reveal his secret, but he reluctantly undid the buttons to his coat and revealed the bulge beneath.

 

Thor gave a sound of choked laughter. Loki had worn a tight outfit underneath his coat, so that the material stretched to breaking point over his stomach, and it seemed that his husband was at least halfway through his pregnancy. It confused him how Loki could be so far gone, but he trusted Loki enough to be faithful. It was surely a result of his different physiology. Still, Thor could not help but be awed by the sight, and to know that his child – his son or daughter – resided within the frame of the man he loved . . . it was an overwhelming feeling. He raised his eyes to look at Loki’s expression, but already he could feel the tears rising and felt blinded.

 

“So it is true,” Thor said. “You are with child.”

 

“The child is between three to four months advanced,” replied Loki softly. “There is very little else that I can tell you, Thor. They feel healthy and they move often, but that is all I know. I do not know what gender they are . . . what race they are to be . . . I can only hope that we are to have a daughter, for one of you is hard enough to bear.”

 

“I do not care what they are, Loki, just so long as they are healthy. Our child shall be perfect, of this I am certain, and they shall be a ruler to put all others to shame. I shall teach them to fight, whilst you shall teach them great magic . . . they will be loved.”

 

“Indeed,” said Frigga. “They will know no shortage of love.”

 

“You see, Loki?”

 

Thor continued to lean his forehead against the barrier. He gazed upon Loki’s expression and saw how pale he had become, as if he could not hide the fear that he felt, but he also noted the thin sheen of sweat upon his husband’s brow. It angered Thor to know that Loki had been put into jail and had yet to be taken to a healer or have a healer see to him, but the joy at discovering his unborn child distracted him.

 

He could not look away from Loki, for it was impossible to think of anything other than the child that they would soon have, and he found himself envisioning the child and how it would grow. He wondered how long it would take to feel the child kick, what names that Loki would approve, and yet he saw in his husband’s expression something that spoke of an inability to look into the future. Loki seemed lost in short-term concerns, unable to picture how good their future could be. Loki hardened his stare despite the watery glaze and the sadness in his eyes was heartbreaking.

  
Frigga remained standing to the side as she let the two men share in a private moment, which was something that made Thor feel grateful. He knew that she wished to be there to support Loki, but this was the first moment that he knew – with certainty – of his second child’s existence, and it was a moment that he wished to share with Loki without interruption. It was something personal, but he knew that without Frigga’s presence Loki would feel less comfortable than he otherwise would.

 

“Why did you not tell me sooner?” Thor asked.

 

“You know full well that I could not,” snapped Loki. “I am sure that your father has told you everything, at least if you know of our child, but still you ask me questions of which you should already know the answers! Tell me, Thor, why did the Allfather reveal this to you? I cannot believe that you came across such knowledge accidentally. Let me guess: the Allfather has reneged on his deal? Delightful.”

 

“No, he has not reneged on his deal.”

 

It was clear that his husband felt great fear, but it was difficult to see him in such pain and not be able to reach out to reassure him. There had been a time when Loki would cover his apprehension and pain with great pranks, ones that were somehow both childish and yet admirable in skill, and yet now it was not possible for Loki to fall back on such distractions, for his pranks had mainly belonged to the realm of illusions. Now his magic was restricted, and so Loki could do nothing but passively accept his fate, something which no doubt angered his husband considerably.

 

Thor knew that – had his husband the power to cast illusions – he would no doubt have hidden himself within his cell and cast an arrogant image to speak to Thor, or he would have mocked the other with images of the Avengers to distract from the issue at hand. It was not in Thor’s power to grant him his full power. Loki had a sharp mind, proved by his bargaining with the Allfather, and so that would have to sate him.

 

“You cannot imagine the fear that I felt,” explained Thor. “I came straight to our rooms last night, for Jane had finished her examination with excellent results and had no further need of me, and I had much that I wished to discuss with you. There were things that I longed to say, Loki! I all but ran into our room, but you were not there! I thought at first that you had withdrawn into a quiet spot to read, but I could not find you. Sif insisted that she had not seen you all day and nor had Mother.

 

“I searched all I could, but you were nowhere to be found. Father insisted that I retire to bed, for you were likely hiding within the library and did not wish to be disturbed, but I could not sleep . . . it was impossible without you beside me! I went straight back to my father and voiced my concern. It was only after Mother heard my raised voice that she entered, then she too became concerned for even the guards would not speak of where you were, nor would you hide so late at night under such restrictions. Father then confessed to his test. This was all a test, Loki, nothing more!”

 

“I had assumed as much. Still, a deal was a deal.”

 

“Do not – _do not_ – say such things before me! You have _no idea_ how close I came to blows with Father! He wished for you to stay in this cell for twenty-four hours, but I refused to see you stay in here for even a minute longer than need be! You are my husband, Loki! You should have confided in me and together we would have found a solution! Do not think that you deserved this, for I will not hear you slander yourself!”

 

Loki rolled his eyes. It was enough that Thor smashed his fist against the energy-barrier with the side of his hand, an action that sent a jolt of pain through him and forced his hand back a considerable amount. He was half-tempted to strike again when he saw Loki give an amused half-smirk and raise an eyebrow, for to hear Loki speak ill of himself had been insult enough, but to then be mocked for defending his husband’s honour was too much to bear. He glared at Loki and made to speak.

 

It was then that Frigga stepped forward and smiled warmly to Thor, enough that it quelled his shaking fist and caused him to step back. Loki made a face that spoke of an unspoken victory, although it was out of the view of their mother, and Thor was forced to draw in a deep breath to refrain from shouting. He hated that his husband would speak as if he were less than any other Asgardian. Luckily, Frigga turned to address Loki gently, so that he would see the truth and be less inclined to act out, and Loki appeared to calm himself upon sight of her. He looked to her respectfully. 

 

“Thor fought bravely for you,” Frigga said softly. “I had to insert myself between my husband and son, for I feared that the two would destroy one another in battle with the fury that my son felt, but Thor has proved himself a mature man that has grown to know great wisdom. You would have been _proud_ , Loki. I will say nought of the damage of the relationship between father and son, but this may prove to benefit you.

 

“Odin Allfather has granted you access to any part of Asgard you so wish, with only a minimum of guards to chaperone your movements. He has also reinstated all your magic, bar the power of illusion, so that you may cast greater spells. There is purpose to everything that my husband does and I have faith in his motives, if not his methods. He loves you dearly, of this I am sure, and he has always believed that you would choose rightly, but he felt bound to make certain of your loyalties to a cause greater than your self, for the sake of our realm. You have at last proved yourself to him.”

 

“How wonderful,” Loki spat, “it merely took the threat of _death_ to my child for my supposed father-figure to believe in my worth. I suppose that I should be grateful. I must remember how effective this method of ‘tough-love’ is for when my child is born, for it seems to be the only way for a parent to believe in their child in this household. Tell me, Mother, did you know of this test from the start?”

 

“Loki!” Thor shouted. “Do not disrespect our mother!”

 

“No, Thor,” said Frigga. “It is a legitimate concern. Loki, I knew not of the bargain that my husband conceived, although I have known of your pregnancy from the start. I told you that you were glowing, did I not? I only wish that you had come to me so that we could discuss it.”

 

Loki had the decency to look abashed by her words. It was enough to assure Thor that his husband may still yet prove himself and make amends for his past deeds, for he clearly knew guilt and retained a strong conscience. He watched as Loki took a step closer to the barrier and looked sadly to their mother with his head low. Thor was certain that the moment the barrier was dropped that it would be Frigga to which Loki turned, for their relationship was unbreakable, even in light of their old argument.

 

“I had wanted nothing more,” Loki admitted.

 

“Then why, my son, did you not turn to me sooner?”

 

“Tell me what you wish for me to say,” Loki demanded. “The Allfather does not trust me and for good reason. I will not deny that my return to Asgard was self-serving, even if the chains that bound me were not of my choosing, but as I will not discuss my motives – or repent my sins – our king cannot trust me. I do not blame him for testing me, although Iwould have perhaps chosen a less cruel manner in which to act, but the terms of this bargain relied on one thing: no one was to know.”

 

Thor shook his fist by his side. The thought that Loki had battled such a secret for so long was painful, even if Loki had far more secrets than the average man. Thor knew not why Loki had chosen to be captured on Midgard, why he had chosen to return to Asgard, and he still did not know how Loki discovered such access to worlds unknown or to hide himself from Heimdall, but he did know that this was different.

 

This was the sort of secret that Loki should have confided in Thor, for they were married and there was a mutual respect between them. He could not protect Loki for as long as he hid such secrets! Thor wondered whether Loki truly believed that his husband could not be trusted to silence or to help him uncover a solution to his problem. It was not as if Loki stood to gain from secrecy. This was not the same as knowing of hidden portals or powerful spells, secrets that gave him power for as long as no one else knew, for this secret only served to hurt Loki for as long as it was kept.

 

Loki touched his stomach. It was a gesture that Thor had seen a lot as of late, but only now – with the certainty of their child’s existence – did the action reveal its meaning. He watched with interest as Loki’s long fingers graced his stomach, fascinated by the way the whole area expanded far more than Thor had noticed, and suddenly he wished that he had ignored Loki’s wishes and had let his hands explore the other man’s body, so that he may have found the secret sooner. Thor looked away sadly.

 

“You promised that you would return to me,” he said quietly.

 

“I promised that I would return _as soon as I was able_ ,” snapped Loki. “Do you think that a few hours would have convinced me to choose differently? Even if you _were_ to have known of our unborn child, even had you full knowledge of what had been offered to me; I still would have chosen the same. I did what I had to do, Thor!”

 

“You have no idea what I was to tell you, Loki! It was important indeed or so I had thought! Do you truly think that I do not care for you? I have fought against my father to find you, to be sure that you are well! Does that mean nothing to you?”

 

“Oh, how sweet, you act as if you love me.”

 

Loki looked to Thor with a strange expression. Thor feared for a moment that his husband would resent him for the truth, but a part of him hoped that Loki could return his feelings in turn, or at least keep silent in his mockery. He was used to Loki’s sarcasm and his bitter tongue, but – after the arguments that he endured – he did not trust himself not to shout or argue in reaction should Loki act in such a manner.

 

“I do love you, Loki.”

 

Thor looked away from Loki abashedly. It was difficult to confess such feelings when he had been raised as a man of action and not of words, when such romantic feelings were associated with women and not with men, and it had been difficult to find his friends unaccompanied to confide in them. The truth was that he felt forced to process what he felt alone, but eventually he could not hide it any longer. He loved Loki. The only thing that had held him back was that Loki did not love him in turn.

 

“I am a warrior, not a poet,” Thor confessed. “I simply know that I love you. This was not the place that I envisioned telling you, but I love you, Loki! You should have come to me and trusted me! I love you.”

 

“Thor – _Husband_ – how would you react were I to reciprocate your feelings?”

 

“I would be most thrilled, Loki! More than you can imagine.”

 

“Is that right? I will keep silent then.”

 

It was a response that Thor had not expected, but from Loki it was as an admission of affection. The words were said with just enough kindness that he could find himself believing that the other loved him, although the slight sarcasm was enough that he feared that this may be a joke to the other, and yet he knew well his husband’s need to keep his feelings hidden at bay. Thor smiled warmly and assumed the best.

 

He raised his hand to signal the guards. They released the energy barrier and allowed Loki the freedom to leave his cell, a freedom that the younger man seemed reluctant to take out of fear of trickery. Loki looked at Thor with surprise, before he began to cast his eyes from his mother to husband as if in search of an answer, and it was only when Thor extended a hand that Loki seemed to realise that he was being honestly offered his freedom. He raised an eyebrow and ignored Thor’s gesture, but stepped out of his cell. Thor smiled and tried to refrain from embracing the younger man.

 

Frigga did not seem to hold the same reserve, for at once she went to Loki’s side and embraced him firmly and kindly. There was a brief spark of fear as Thor wondered if the action may harm their child, but he trusted both his husband and his mother’s judgement, and it seemed that Loki needed the reassurance as much as Frigga needed to give it. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears as she pulled away with a bright smile, and Loki held onto her hands for a brief moment as they parted.

 

“Try not tease Thor, Loki,” Frigga said softly.

 

“I am not expecting anything from you in return,” Thor said to Loki. “I would be thrilled were you to return my feelings, but I know that now is not the time or place to discuss such things. I only want for you to know that you are not alone, Loki. I will fight for you and for our child unconditionally. Do not keep such secrets from me again! You are not the monster you believe yourself to be. You do not deserve this!”

 

“You know nothing of what I deserve,” replied Loki. “I appreciate your sentiment and I am grateful that you would fight for my freedom, especially when you could have freed yourself from this marriage had you simply accepted my fate.”

 

“Loki, you know well that this was a mere test of character, surely?”

 

“I am out of my cell, am I not?”

 

Thor moved beside Loki and took a firm hold of his neck, which forced the other to look at him and fixed him in place. It brought him back to so many times in the past, times in which he tried to reassure Loki or sought to bring him back to his senses, but this felt far different to any of those moments. He felt a fury at his father for having treated Loki in such a manner, but he also felt anger at Loki for having allowed it. Loki could have avoided all of this had he simply trusted in Thor, but it was hard to fault him for those feelings that had been growing within him since childhood.

 

“It was never the Allfather’s intent that you should stay in here,” Thor reluctantly admitted. “Our child cements our marriage, just as it was explained to us before we began to try for an heir. There are no loopholes, no bylaws, and no exceptions. It did not matter if you relinquished your rights, for the marriage would remain strong regardless. I do not understand my father, just as I do not always understand you, but – whatever he told you – this marriage _cannot_ be annulled. It is now final.”

 

“So that is it? It seems strange to me to have my ‘worth’ proven and yet to be denied the powers of illusion that come so natural to me, almost as if ‘trust’ is to be held and tried separately to that of ‘worth’. Tell me, when will I have my _complete_ freedom?”

 

“Loki, I do not know, but is this not enough for now?”

 

“Yes, I should be grateful for my reward, should I not? I imagine that when I am not chained to your bed by duty, I shall otherwise be locked in a nursery with a screaming babe. Oh, and should Loki forget himself, should he dare to dream that he can be more than a political prisoner granted the title of ‘spouse’, then I am sure that another child can be forced onto him to keep him in his place. We have _much_ to discuss, Thor.

 

“Trust me when I say that – as it stands – there is very little to guarantee my loyalty to our realm other than my unfortunate loyalty to _you_. Your father commits genocide on a level unlike any other, he keeps dangerous trophies together that could – when united – bring about the destruction of all nine realms, and he manipulates his subjects in a way that puts _my_ antics to shame. I pity the man that respects such a ruler. I will play nice for now, Thor, but there will come a day when a better ruler is needed. I would support you – _unconditionally_ – should you choose to rule.”

 

“You do not know what you say, Husband.”

 

Thor allowed his hand to fall away. He gave Loki a stern look as he tried to understand what his husband said, because there was a fear that – hidden beneath the bitterness and childish desire to hurt – a deeper truth was hidden. It was true that Loki often spoke cold words merely to regain control, to emotionally manipulate others or distance himself, but so often did he also hide his intentions in plain view. He often phrased his honest feelings as a lie, knowing that others would ignore his promises as insincere threats or speculation. Thor hoped that this was not one of those times. 

 

It was only after a few long moments that he realised that he had not yet broken eye-contact with Loki, and that the other seemed to stare at him all too intently. Frigga broke their gaze as she went to her youngest son’s side, where she began to fuss about Loki and touched upon his stomach, an action that caused the younger man to tense and fluster. He moved his eyes away from Thor to make a comment that was lost to Thor’s ears, whilst their mother laughed in response and pulled her hand away.

 

Thor was oblivious to the conversation at hand, although he could envision well that his husband objected to having his personal space invaded, and no doubt Loki would have had the hand of any such person that tried to touch him without his permission, if that person had been any other but their mother. Still, Thor thought about what Loki had said. He had just been released from a cell after being forced to believe the very worst; it would be natural to lash out and speak of usurpation, but should he be serious . . . Thor took a firm hold of Loki by the shoulders and turned him to face him.

 

“Do not say such things to anyone else, Loki,” Thor whispered. “I have already come so close to losing you. I cannot lose you again simply as you have spoken such treasonous thoughts and caused my father to doubt your sincerity!”

 

“You need not worry,” replied Loki. “There is much that I am not willing to discuss before another, even if that other person is the mother whose love I appreciate above all else, and – were I to be honest – I do not think that it shall be easy to discuss even when we are alone. Let me simply say this: I would not jeopardise our relationship.”

 

“From you, Husband, that is almost romantic.”

 

Loki gave Thor a pointed look. It was almost as if he dared Thor to make further comment, which was understandable given that the older prince was often prone to teasing and knew well what subjects could irritate Loki most. He would have likely acted in that exact manner were it not for current circumstances, and he had to remind himself that Loki deserved patience, for his husband carried his child . . . _their_ child.

 

“Let us away, Loki,” Thor said. “You deserve to rest in your own rooms.”

 

“Here I thought they were _our_ rooms.”

 

Thor laughed loudly. It was good to hear Loki’s playful sarcasm, even if there was the underlying insecurity to his tone, and Thor gently took his husband’s hands in his and looked lovingly to his stomach. He wanted nothing more than to touch upon the growing bulge and to see if he could feel the child beneath, but he knew that Loki would not take kindly upon it, instead he held tight to him and smiled warmly.

 

“Yes,” Thor assured him, “ _our_ rooms.”

 

 


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Fríða is pronounced closer to ‘Free-thah’ than the modern ‘Frieda’.

# Chapter Twenty-Two

****

“I trust that Jane Foster has returned home?”

 

There was a certain lilt to the end of Loki’s question. Thor knew his husband all too well, for they had both grown together and fought together, and he could tell what the slight waver in speech indicated: insecurity. He had been released from the dungeons for merely a day, but it seemed that he feared greatly that he was to be replaced or to thrown back into the cell from which he had been freed. Thor could not fault him. The test of the Allfather had been cruel indeed and preyed on Loki’s worst fears.

 

Thor pressed harder upon Loki’s foot, surprised that the other man had allowed him this small intimacy, but it was possible that his husband was too exhausted by his predicament – too starved for attention and validation – to argue about what was arguably a small gesture in the scheme of things. It worried Thor how cold the pale skin beneath his hand felt. Loki had always been cold-blooded, although no more so than any other Asgardian of his size, but when he looked so warm and sweated so greatly it was a cause of concern. Thor made a mental note to speak to the healers.

 

Loki sat against the headboard of the bed and stretched out his legs, so that his bare feet were comfortably upon Thor’s lap. He had changed into a green sleeping-tunic and bottoms, almost as if his usual routine hadn’t been broken at all, and in his lap he laid his hands and held the book that he had read earlier within his cell. Thor could not help but smile at the sight. It seemed as if Loki were relaxed as always, with his full attention on the yellowing pages, and even his hair was loose about his shoulders.

 

“I escorted her back to the Bifrost,” Thor said. “Jane has spent much of her time here with the healers and our mother. They say that both she and the baby are in perfect health, as such she was given permission to return home.”

 

“So I can assume that this is all we will see of her until the birth?” Loki licked his finger to slowly turn a page. “I need not worry about any more dalliances with mortal women or long excursions to weaker realms? I assume that – since you have given a declaration of love – we are now to assume a far closer relationship. It will not be possible to grow closer, however, should your love be divided.”

 

“You know that you have nothing to fear! I love you dearly, Loki, more so than I have thought possible. I will not demean myself by waxing lyrical poetry, for I am not the one with the silver-tongue, but you must know this: I love no one but you! If I am to see Jane, it is only so that I may see my son. You need not worry. I love you.”

 

“Thor, I –”

 

Loki closed his book with a sigh. It brought a smile to Thor’s lips to know that he had garnered his husband’s full attention, but more so to see the slight look of discomfort upon Loki’s expression. The book was soon slammed onto the bedside table, which rattled the bowl of oil and caused some to spill over the sides, and it was rather telling that Loki did not care when a drop fell onto the book cover with a small splash. The younger man folded his arms and glared at Thor, albeit with a blush to his cheeks. 

 

“Thank you,” Loki muttered.

 

“I hold hope that one day you will return those words.”

 

Loki smiled warmly. It was not entirely sincere, for such smiles were rare and usually given in moments of true sentimentality, but it was sincere enough that Thor realised that his husband loved him. Thor continued to massage the feet upon his lap, but he could not look away from the developing bulge to the other’s stomach. He wondered whether Loki would be able to fully reciprocate by the time their child was born.

 

Thor felt relieved to have Loki back within their rooms, for he knew that he could not sleep without the other man beside him, but – even though the day had been long – he did not think that he would be able to sleep at all. The relief that he felt upon having Loki back boiled up inside him, along with the curiosity concerning the results of his tests. There were too many emotions to make sleep possible. It was likely that Loki felt the same way, now that the secret of their child had been revealed and he had Thor’s confession to contend with, especially if he returned those feelings of love.

 

“I know that one day I shall,” Loki confessed.

 

“But not today?”

 

It was difficult to judge Loki’s expression in their darkened bedroom, but he could feel the other tense a little beneath his hold. The tension was brief, gone before it had truly started, but it had been there and it had been noticed. Thor let go of his husband’s feet and instead began to walk around the bed to his side, where he climbed beneath the furs and waited for Loki to do the same, but it seemed – with his new sensitivity to heat – that his husband preferred to lie above the covers and furs.

 

“Not today,” replied Loki.

 

“I will not push you to say such words, if you are not ready,” Thor said. “Just know that I am grateful to have you back by my side, and that I would gladly stand against my father a thousand times over should it prove my love for you.”

 

“You always were the sentimental one. Let me simply say that you do not need to prove anything: I know your feelings, Thor. I trust you. I simply do not feel ready to discuss my feelings when so many things are still so uncertain, however I would say that I am not averse to continuing our ‘marital duties’, even if there is no longer a need to conceive an heir . . . take from that as you will.”

 

“Loki, I do not expect such things from you. Do not feel forced or pressured into acting, merely as you think it would be pleasing to me or secure you a place by my side. All I want is for you to be well and happy. Tell me, what did the healers say?”

 

“Ah, the healers . . .”

 

Loki adjusted his position so that he lay upon his back. It was enough that it emphasised the growing bulge and changing shape, and it made Thor wonder when the last time was that he saw Loki lying flat upon his front or back. Thor rolled onto his side and reached out to touch the place where his unborn child resided, but the thought of touching his husband without permission did not feel quite right, especially so when the other man had been through so much. He made to withdraw his hand, but Loki took a firm hold of it. In a matter of seconds Thor found his hand pressed against the other’s stomach. He stroked lightly, as Loki kept a hold of his wrist.

 

The skin felt tight and firm beneath the tunic top, but he could not help but smile as he thought of how close to his child his hand rested. It would not be long at all until he could hold them and raise them. He could hear Loki sigh, almost as if he disbelieved the sentimentality of his husband, but he soon allowed his fingers to softly brush against Thor’s hand and then rest upon it, so that they he effectively held Thor’s hand as it rested upon his stomach.

 

“I thought that you would object,” Thor admitted.

 

“I do not think that one time shall hurt,” said Loki. “The moment that I awaken to you _talking_ to the child, however, or _kissing_ my stomach, then I shall take great pains to make your life a living misery until the child arrives.”

 

“Surely you will make an exception? We have yet to discuss the issue of a family, as such this may well be the only child that we have. What then? I wish to remember every moment of this pregnancy and experience every moment with you. This is to be our child, a product of our love and union, and I think that they would be grateful for my affections were they able to know of it.”

 

“My stomach is _not_ to be poked and prodded,” Loki snapped. “Do you randomly accost any stranger you meet to stroke their abdomens? No, I think not. I fail to see why I should abandon my rights to personal space simply as I carry your young.”

 

“ _Our_ young, Loki. Do not forget that.”

 

Thor tightened his hand into a fist, so as to trap Loki’s hand around his and keep their hands held together. Loki did not appear to mind, although he did give a sharp exhale of breath and turned his head to look at Thor, but it seemed that the older man could not hide the smile upon his lips or the love within his eyes. It earned him a harsh glare from Loki, who was not one to deal with ‘sentimentality’ easily. Thor simply laughed in response and moved closer to Loki as much as their relative positions allowed.

 

“Now tell me,” Thor said. “What did the healers say?”

 

“They said that my change in temperature does not appear a cause for alarm,” replied Loki. “I am in full health, which means that we can assume that it is little other than a symptom peculiar to the Jotun race. Eir was in doubt as to whether my Asgardian form would hold, although Mother insisted that it should, but should it come to that then I shall be forced to converse with our Jotun prisoners. It may be that they can shed some more light onto the situation. We simply do not know at this stage.

 

“I am approximately midway through the pregnancy, which I have already explained to you at great length. Need I repeat myself? Those of Jotun blood do not carry as long as those from other realms, especially in comparison to those from Asgard, and it seems that my pregnancy is very typical of a Jotun one. Eir predicts that I shall be due several weeks before Jane bears forth her child, but instructed me to tell you that such dates _are merely predictions_ , and so you are not to worry unless I am late by severalweeks! Our child appears to be quite healthy and predominately Asgardian in physiology, so you have nought to concern yourself with, and . . . there is _one_ more thing. A trifling thing. I really don’t know why I even mention it.”

 

“What, Loki? Is something not right?”

 

“We are having a daughter.”

 

“A daughter?”

 

The shock of those words stole breath from Thor. He felt rather light-headed, as if he had been dealt a great blow to the head during the heat of battle, and yet it was not an unpleasant feeling. It seemed as if their realm had been erased, replaced instead by a private world of their making, and as he felt his heart race he looked into Loki’s eyes and tried to gauge the other’s reaction. He needed to know if Loki wanted this as much as he did, or if he perhaps regretted all that had happened.

 

It was difficult to judge Loki’s expression, for he seemed to gaze curiously at Thor with eyebrow raised and lips pressed into a thin line, but he did not seem afraid or disappointed with the news. He seemed calm. Thor did not know how Loki achieved such a calm state, for Thor was already lost in fears of how he would keep suitors for his daughter at bay. He wondered if he would be able to teach her enough swordsmanship to beat the best of warriors, or if Sif would be willing to help in teaching her everything that Thor and Loki may well be incapable of teaching, or if she would even wish to assume the crown and whether she would have siblings to contend against. He wondered – most of all – if he would be a good father.

 

He was sure that he would have felt such fears regardless of the child’s gender, but to _know_ what they were having cemented the idea that this was real, and this would come to them in a few months. He wondered what traits of Loki their child may inherit, if she would be as adept at magic and mischief, just as he wondered if they were to have a son later on if it would inherit the Jotun physiology or physique. He would have to teach his children well. He did not wish for them to fight or for one to feel less worthy than the other, but that was far ahead . . .

 

“You are too silent, Thor,” Loki said. “Does this not please you?”

 

Loki’s words shook Thor from his thoughts. He realised that his husband – despite his seeming confidence – still held a deep sense of insecurity; Thor owed it to him to reassure him, lest his silence be mistaken for rejection. It took him a few moments to regain his thoughts and composure, for he could not control the overwhelming love that he felt and the subtle panic on the realisation that he would soon become a father.

 

“This pleases me immensely,” replied Thor. “Our daughter will be a ruler to put all others to shame; she will prove that women can both rule a realm and win in battle, just as she will prove that to cast a spell is as admirable as to wield a weapon.”

 

“We all know what happens to children that have such high expectations placed upon them, Thor. The higher the expectation means the greater the disappointment. I expect nothing from our child other than that she be healthy and happy . . . I will not pressure her into believing that she must be anything other than what she is. I do not wish for her to feel that she cannot live to our expectations. You forget that she will be born with Jotun blood, already at a disadvantage.”

 

“Loki, if she is even a _fraction_ like you, I shall be the proudest father that our realm has ever seen. I swear that my tales of our daughter will put even Volstagg’s boasting to shame, for I will have a daughter as intelligent and skilful as the one that bore her. I do not see any harm in high expectations. I know that Sif will be relieved to have a fellow female warrior to fight by her side; our daughter will be a role-model for all.”

 

“You plan to teach our daughter to fight? Our child is not yet born. Do we not have greater concerns than her later education? We have yet to decide how to raise her, what morals we are to instil in her, or even what yet to name her. I would suggest Fríða Thorsdóttir, but I imagine that you would much prefer Þóra as a name.”

 

“Þóra? You think I would name our daughter ‘Thora’? I am not so vain!”

 

“I beg to differ, Husband.”

 

Thor laughed slightly, but he was silenced as Loki rolled onto his side. There was a look in Loki’s eyes that was difficult to interpret, one that made him seem perfectly at peace and yet held a hint of seeming disbelief, a look somewhere between teasing and appreciation. Thor wanted to reach out and hold his husband, but it was somewhat difficult when the other lay on top of the furs and refused to crawl under. He instead settled on reaching out to push a stray lock of hair away from Loki’s face.

 

“I like Fríða,” said Thor. “It reminds me a little of Mother’s name.”

 

“That is why I chose it. I would like to honour her.”

 

“Fríða. _Fríða_. I like it!”

 

There was a smirk on Loki’s lips that looked victorious. It seemed that they had settled upon a name, which surprised Thor as he did not expect his husband to be the sort to brood over children’s names. He had never considered names before this moment, nor did he have any preferences, but Loki’s choice felt so natural and so perfect. _Fríða_. He would have leaned forward to press a kiss to his husband’s lips, but that was the one thing that they had yet to share. Thor merely smiled back instead.

 

“I am glad that you approve,” Loki said.

 

“I will admit that I did not think that I would,” replied Thor. “We were raised quite differently. I would have picked a name more suited to a warrior queen, but when I hear you speak our daughter’s name . . . it sounds right. Fríða Thorsdóttir.”

 

“Is that so? I did not expect you to acknowledge my wishes.”

 

“Why would I not, Loki? This is _our_ child.”

 

“I am not used to sharing,” Loki said softly. “You are not used to sharing either. I remember a time when Mother would ask that you involve me in your games, but those were _your_ friends, you would not share in them. Do you remember that Thor? You ran and hid with them in parts of the castle that I was forbidden. I was so small that I struggled to keep up, too weak to force open such large doors, and eventually – all alone – I cried for an hour.”

 

“I do not remember that, Loki,” Thor admitted. “I do remember, however, Father giving you a splendid toy sword, one that was designed as your first introduction into swordsmanship and one-on-one combat. I tried to show you how to use it, but no sooner had I touched it did you use what little magic you had to break it. You said that if it could not be yours alone then it would belong to no one.”

 

“Do you think such men capable of raising a child together?”

 

“Aye, for the men we just described were mere boys,” replied Thor. “Those boys fought and sparred as all siblings are wont to do, but they are not who we are. You are Loki Laufeyson of Jotunheim and I am Thor Odinson of Asgard. I have no doubt that we shall argue, but we shall always put our child first! We will make a good team.”

 

“I worry about our future . . . our daughter’s future . . .”

 

Thor wondered if they would become good parents. It was true that they had fought a lot as children, that nearly everything had become cause for a competition or seen as a challenge, but there had also been moments of great affection between them. They had a pleasant childhood overall, one that he wished to give his daughter in turn, but – whereas Loki worried that they had not grown past their childishness – Thor worried that they had not learned enough about what it meant to be a parent.

 

Thor’s involvement in the lives of his friend’s children had been limited, so that he had been merely a fun uncle that would tell stories and occasionally act as something of a climbing frame or a sparring partner, the one that they would play-fight and expect grand tales. He could not remember having ever held a baby or changing a nappy, and – whilst he was certain that there would be servants to bathe their daughter or to nurse her – he wanted to be an active part of her life. He did not wish to make the mistakes of his father. He did not wish to do wrong by his child.

 

“Tell me what worries you,” Thor pleaded.

 

The room had grown much darker, so that the closeness to Loki felt far more intimate than it otherwise would. He moved closer, but pushed the furs down to his waist, so that he could drape his arm around his husband’s waist, and he allowed his hand to rest upon the small of Loki’s back with a gentle touch. Loki appeared not to mind the closeness, although he did give a stern look of warning to Thor and rolled his eyes when the other smiled innocently.

 

“You know my fears,” Loki snapped.

 

“Then tell me again. I will not deny that we fought often in our past, but do you forget the moments of camaraderie and friendship between us? We fought side by side against many foes. Your magic protected me. My strength saved you! Alone we would have been defeated, but together we won every battle that we entered! Do you think yourself alone by my side? I do not. I see us _together_ in sacred union.”

 

“I doubt the truth in your words. I am no fool, Husband! Just yesterday, as I lay in my cell and fretted for my future, you fought with your father and learned the truth behind the deal that he struck with me. I suppose I should be grateful that you came to rescue me, yes? You could easily have allowed me to stew for a few more days.”

 

“No, I could not. I would not see you suffer a moment longer!”

 

“Oh, but you _did_ ,” Loki said coldly. “You could have let down the energy-barrier the moment that you came to my cell, but you did not! You wanted to test me, _exactly_ as your father wished to test me! You only released me once that you knew I was definitely with child, once that you knew that I reciprocated your feelings, and I cannot help but wonder if your love is conditional. Would I have stayed in that cell if I had not felt affection for you? Would I have remained there were I not with child?”

 

“Loki, do you love a man that you truly believe loves you not?”

 

“I never used the word _‘love’_ , Thor.”

 

Thor caught the blush to his husband’s cheeks. It was too dark to be certain, but he could detect the slight flush to the otherwise pale skin, and – as he moved his free hand upwards to touch upon the other’s face – he felt a heat that he rarely felt. He wondered if this were merely a side effect of the fever that Loki experienced or an effect of being so deeply embarrassed, but it was quite possibly a result of both. It seemed that Loki did love him.

 

He wrapped his arms around Loki and pulled his husband against him, so that they could share an embrace pressed to one another. Thor half expected his husband to push away, but he allowed the small intimacy and relaxed into the hold, as if he sought for reassurance as much as Thor sought to give it. The furs about Thor’s waist were the only barriers between them. It was a simple act, but it was one that Thor was certain brought great comfort to them both, and he did not wish to let go, for to let go was to risk losing Loki.

 

“I am sorry, _truly_ sorry,” Thor said. “I never meant for you to feel unloved!”

 

“I do not blame you, Husband,” Loki answered. “I know that you must feel some affection in order to return for me at all, but that you could not immediately let down the barrier -! How far does your affection stem? You cannot even _trust_ me.”

 

“I will not lie to you, Loki. I respect you too much to do so, but I trust you enough to know you are a good man and that you would never do anything to hurt our child. I love you unconditionally. You could turn against me, hurt me, even reject me, and yet I would _still_ love you more than any love that I have ever felt! I did not trust you to be honest with me, that much is true, and so I waited to uncover your feelings first.”

 

“How do you know that those, too, were not a lie?”

 

“I do not.” Thor laughed warmly. “I suppose I must trust you more than I thought. Do not ask me to explain my actions, for I know not why I waited so long to act as I did, but all that I know is my relief on seeing you – my need to know the truth – distracted me for the briefest of moments. It was always my intent to release you.”

 

“I am grateful for that. Thank you.”

 

Loki appeared suspicious. It seemed that his tone was clipped, almost as if he were speaking out of insincerity and to simply put an end to the current topic of conversation. Thor was worried that his action – borne out of simple misplaced distraction – had caused Loki to lose all faith in him, a thought that hurt him considerably, but it seemed that Loki was not as hurt by it as he had first appeared.

 

The younger man leaned his head against Thor’s collarbone, so that Thor could feel his warm breath against his skin. It was incredibly personal, enough that when Loki appeared to nuzzle against him he felt compelled to hold tighter, pulling in his husband closer to him. It was not like Loki to be sentimental or to initiate intimate gestures, and so Thor appreciated the touch for what it was, unsure of when he would next feel the other against him again in such a way. They lay close to each other for a long moment in silence. Thor relaxed as Loki quietly rested beside him.

 

“Thor, I must ask you a question.”

 

Thor drew in a deep breath out of concern. He lowered his head so that his face was pressed into Loki’s black locks of hair, and he couldn’t help but take in the scent to remind himself that his husband was still beside him. The swell of Loki’s stomach pressed against his lower body through the furs, enough that the thought of their daughter sprung to mind and caused him to smile, and he wondered what else he could do to let Loki know that he and their child were loved above all else.

 

“You may ask me anything, you know this, Loki.”

 

“I will not ask you to choose between our daughter and your son,” Loki began quietly. “It is too cruel for words and I would not wish abandonment upon any child, regardless of whose blood they may hold, but I understand that – as such – you must spend time with your son whenever you are able. Do you think yourself capable of such a commitment? What of when you become king?

 

“I know that you think such things to be far away, but you _will_ become king, Husband. Your father is growing advanced in years and planned to see you succeed far before this moment, and I know that you will prove your worth in this upcoming war, so that it may be that you ascend far sooner than you assume. It will be difficult to juggle the duties of your realm with your family, even with me by your side to support you, and so how will you maintain this commitment to one Thor Foster? Your mortal son will age as a mortal does, so you will not be able to visit once every fifty years; you will have to visit on a yearly basis, at the very least. I do not wish for you to neglect your son, but nor do I wish for our realm to suffer.”

 

“You have more faith in my ability to rule than I,” Thor confessed. “My father is a strong man and a powerful king, he will not need leave the throne for some time! I will admit, however, that my greatest fear is that I shall not be there enough for my son, that I will miss the key moments of his life and leave him wanting for my parental affection. It worries me greatly.”

 

“It will only become more difficult when you ascend the throne.”

 

“That may be centuries from now! My son will have passed by then,” said Thor sadly. “You focus too much on abstract politics! These have no effect on our immediate state, but my children’s lives are something that will soon come about. _These_ must I focus on! You know that no parent should outlive their child.”

 

“I apologise. It was not my intent to hurt you.”

 

Thor let out a harsh exhale of breath, as he tried to decipher his husband’s mood. It worried him to hear Loki speak of a king other than his father, for there was much to be said about loyalty to the throne, especially when any suspicion of treason could result in Loki’s loss of freedom. He was certain that Loki did not mean to hurt him, but wondered if he had not meant his words. It was as if he wanted Thor to be king.

 

The room had fallen completely black as the night finally struck. It would have been difficult to see Loki, even if they weren’t locked in a gentle embrace, but something told him that this made things easier for his husband. Loki did not wish to be seen, for he preferred to keep his emotions to himself, and yet Thor wanted to see him – even at his weakest – because he loved him truly. He did not know what to say to Loki, for as much as he wanted to reassure him he also felt hurt by the other’s words, afraid that if he spoke them anywhere else that someone may overhear and doubt his loyalty to the throne. He settled upon reassuring Loki. It was his duty as his husband.

 

“Do not worry, Loki,” said Thor. “I will not neglect my duties.”

 

“I believe you, Husband. Truly, I do. I simply do not wish for you to make the mistakes of your parents. I do no wish for you to deny one child in favour of another, or – worst yet – to put your duty to your family before that of your realm. You cannot deny that your parents played favourites, or that Mother was too loyal to me to see that I was not ready to assume the throne.”

 

“Loki, do you not see that I prize _you_ above all else? You are my one and only love. I will rule well when the time comes, for I will have you to guide me as I rule. I will treat my children equally, for I will have  _you_ to remind me of my duties. You balance me and complete me, Loki.”

 

“You love me that much?”

 

“I love you that much.”

 

Thor felt Loki shake within his hold. It felt as if he were crying, enough that Thor was tempted to push him back to get a closer look at him, to make sure that no harm had been done. He worried that he had somehow hurt Loki, although a hopeful part of him wished this to be a display of reciprocation, that Loki cried out of happiness. It was only when he heard the chuckling sound that he realised Loki was laughing at him.

 

“You are so foolishly sentimental, Thor.”

 

It was then that Loki kissed him.

 

 


	23. Chapter 23

# Chapter Twenty-Three

 

“My son . . .”

 

Thor looked down to the child in Jane’s arms. He found himself surprised by how small and fragile his son looked, especially when wrapped so tightly in the swaddling cloth and pressed to his mother’s chest. It was his first time having seen one so young, at least as an adult that could truly understand the miracle of life and birth, and so he was filled with a sense of awe that he had not thought possible. This was _his_ child. This was his son! He could not truly believe it.

 

The boy in Jane’s arms had his eyes closed softly, although every now and again he would purse his lips as if in search of sustenance. Thor could not help but wonder why it was that every small stirring did not act as a cause of alarm for Jane, for – any time that tiny body stirred or those eyelids flickered – Thor found himself constantly jerking slightly to go to his child’s side, so that he may ease whatever it was that caused him even a moment’s discomfort. He worried that the child may be in pain, when he was likely merely slowly awakening. He worried that he may be uncomfortable, even though he would likely cry upon such a sensation. There was nothing that he wanted more than the certainty that his son was happy.

 

“I cannot believe that I am a father.”

 

“Aye,” said Sif from his side. “It is hard to believe that the same man that broke a table in half, just yesterday, can be a father. Tell me, what was it that the man called you to warrant such a reaction?”

 

“I do not remember. It is unimportant!”

 

“You were _too drunk_ to remember!”

 

Jane laughed softly from the bed. Thor tried not to let his embarrassment show, but it seemed that she had not noticed in any case, for her attention had yet to waver from the child in her arms. The curtain to the right of the bed gave the illusion of privacy, but when Thor turned to look at the other women he saw similar expressions of love upon their faces and the faces of their visitors, and – in a brief moment – he wondered if Loki would look as beautiful when he would look to their daughter.

 

The child in her arms gave a soft gurgle as she patted upon his back, and from elsewhere on the ward Thor heard another child begin to cry. Thor tried to ignore the sounds of the other women and visitors, whilst he wondered why such woman were required to share a space in the first place, whether it was a custom of Midgard or if it denoted a common status. He smiled at his son, whose cheeks were somewhat chubby and quite pink in colour, and could not help but feel great love towards him, especially when he appeared so helpless and so innocent. There was a spatter of brown hair upon the young one’s head, whilst his face looked just like Thor’s . . .

 

This boy looked already so much like Thor! He feared that he was not yet ready to be a father, for it was as Sif implied and Loki stated; he acted too irresponsibly and thought too much as a warrior. It was different now that he could see his son – now that he could _touch_ his child’s cheeks and _hear_ their cries – and he felt a great pressure to do right by them and become the man that he should be, for his son’s sake and for his future daughter’s. He loved this boy. He loved him and he swore in that moment that he would do all that he could to be a good father.

 

“I had cause for celebration!” Thor objected.

 

“There is always cause for celebration where you are concerned.”

 

“It’s nice to know some things are universal,” Jane interrupted softly. “One of the mothers a few beds down complained that her husband came in drunk to every one of her births, and then – when she gave birth today – he was drunk again. I’m starting to think it’s a male thing. Do you know Darcy started taking bets with the nurses on how many fathers would come in drunk or go out drinking?”

 

“Is that so?” Thor asked. “It seems unwise to take a bet from those that have much experience to draw from their predictions. I trust that your healers won and that that Darcy was not too disheartened in her defeat?”

 

“Actually I gave birth pretty early in the day yesterday.” Jane laughed and shrugged. “The second that visiting hours were over, Eric took Ian and Donald drinking to celebrate. Ian seemed pretty resilient this morning, but Donald and Eric were hung-over enough that Darcy won five pounds and went wild at the vending machines.”

 

“I see. I am glad for her victory!”

 

Jane rolled her eyes at Thor’s enthusiasm. She looked radiant for one that had only yesterday birthed such a strong child, but there was definitely tiredness to her aspect that Thor found difficult to ignore. It was easy to see how pale her skin had become, along with the bags under her eyes and the slight limpness to her hair, and yet despite her apparent exhaustion Thor admired her, because her sacrifice had brought forth a beautiful child to them both. She had birthed their son.

 

The ward upon which they sat seemed strange to Thor, without the privacy or familiar sights that he had been used to since childhood. There were no large fires for the healing stones to gather heat, nor were there the machines that glowed with the hundreds of lights that had before captured Jane’s rapt attention, and instead there seemed to be six or so beds lined up on either side of the large room. There seemed – to Thor – to be small boxes beside each bed to store the newborn children, as well as curtains around each bed for ‘privacy’, and a large screen for each parent that according to Jane was good for ‘social networking’. It was a strange system indeed.

 

“Where are Eric and Darcy now?” Thor asked.

 

He sat beside her on an uncomfortable chair. Sif stood by his side and looked down at his son with a mixture of admiration and trepidation, both happy to see such a beautiful sight and seemingly afraid lest she be expected to hold it. Jane had not asked Sif if she had wanted to, perhaps as she understood Sif’s feelings better than any other could, but she did watch Sif with a mild amusement. It seemed – to the other mothers – that Sif’s reaction to the baby was more of a cause for attention than their attire.

 

“We think we’ve found all that we can here,” Jane explained. “I’m pretty sure that Ian is working out on finalising his visa to get into the States, and Darcy is out shopping for anything and everything baby-related. Don’t ask me how she found it, but she managed to get a cuddly-toy shaped like a double-decker bus! There’s even a pacifier with a picture of the queen on it . . . she keeps yelling ‘dummy’ when we use it.”

 

“Why would she do that?”

 

“Oh, it’s just a word the British use for ‘pacifier’. It’s – it’s just Darcy being, well, you know . . . _Darcy_. Eric is busy packing all our equipment, now he’s feeling a bit better after his ‘incident’ . . . your husband being in his brain had an – er – impact. Donald is probably sorting out our paperwork, considering T.J. needs a passport.”

 

“T.J.? Who are they?”

 

Thor was surprised when Jane leaned towards him and passed him their son, especially as he had only held the child once before. He hastily tried to remember what Jane had taught him about holding newborn infants, that he was to support the neck and avoid pressure on the head, but there was an instinctual fear that he could not help fully suppress. Thor had been with Sif in the ward for the better part of the day, but he had held his son for perhaps all of ten minutes . . .

 

He held his son close to him and smiled as the young boy opened his eyes, revealing the shade of brown that he had seen so many times upon Jane, and he realised then that his son had the colouring of Jane completely. It seemed that only Thor’s facial features and shape were shared with him, and he heard – half-distracted by love for his child – Jane mention how rare it was for children to be born with dark eyes, and that T.J. was the only baby born so far with eyes that were not blue. It seemed that his son was stirring in hunger, for his mouth began to open and close quite rapidly, and he seemed to rouse in his swaddling cloth. Thor could feel his smile grow in awe.

 

“It’s short for ‘Thor Junior’,” Jane explained.

 

“That will make it easier to tell them apart,” replied Sif.

 

“I think he’s getting hungry though. I’ll have to get a nurse to make a bottle for him, but I’ll wait just a little longer . . . I’m hoping to get him into a routine. I was surprised just how accommodating the staff are, especially when I’m not used to this system at all, I mean I thought that they would just take T.J. away into the nursery, but there isn’t one!”

 

“It is common for children to be taken from their mothers?”

 

“Well, I wouldn’t put it that way,” Jane said. “It’s just that we have a different healthcare system at home, the emphasis is different; here it’s about bonding with the child, but at home it’s about recovery. I won’t deny that last night was a bit sleepless, but . . . I like watching T.J. sleep. It’s reassuring. I can’t picture it any other way.”

 

“I do not understand the appeal of a sleepless sleep.”

 

“Neither did I until last night.”

 

Jane reached out to T.J. and stroked his cheek lightly. It seemed that he responded well to the touch, perhaps he even recognised it as belonging to his mother, for at once he began to gurgle and turn into it. Thor smiled as Jane drew back her hand, whilst Sif leaned down to look at his son somewhat closer. There was no trace of distaste within those dark eyes of hers, but she seemed to look to T.J. as one would analyse the layout upon a battlefield, with a look calculating and curious.

 

There was a part of Thor that wondered if his friend’s standoffish demeanour was a response to her training, a need to distance herself from what were considered feminine pursuits, in order to prove that she could stand equal to any man. She seemed to be genuinely disinterested in a child that could not speak or fight, even somewhat frightened to hold him, perhaps in case of harming the child with her touch. Thor had heard that all women were built with maternal instincts and a desire to bear young, but this seemed not to be the case with Sif. It seemed that she had no genuine interest in the baby at all. The other women and the nurses seemed to find her odd, perhaps broken, but Thor knew her to be the perfect woman and warrior.

 

Thor felt a surge of relief that he had chosen Loki as his husband, for he would not have been able to remain by Jane’s side and to force a family upon Sif would have been the cruellest deed possibly committed. Sif was feminine and fair, but strong and dedicated to her duties, and she knew well her identity and what she wanted from life, and a child would have been unwelcome and prevented her from fighting, training and socialising. She did not know how to balance motherhood with soldiering. It was true that her priorities were different to other women, but that was why Thor admired her.

 

“You enjoy waking up to tend to his needs?” Sif asked.

 

“I wouldn’t say _enjoy_ ,” Jane said gently. “I suppose when I’ve been awake all night working on my research papers, yeah, it might be torture to be kept awake all day by this little guy’s crying, but . . . I wouldn’t trade it for the world. I can’t explain it, but the second I saw him I just _knew_ that I would always love him. I won’t say that I feel ‘complete’, because I don’t depend on anyone for a sense of worth, but I do feel that I have a new purpose, a new reason for getting up each day . . .”

 

“It sounds almost like falling in love. I have heard many men and maidens talk about how their world has changed on meeting another kindred soul, that they finally have a reason to live, but I cannot say that I understand such thoughts. I would die for my friends, but I do not depend upon them for ‘purpose’. You depend upon this child?”

 

“You would not understand, friend,” Thor said. “You are not a mother.”

 

“Neither are you,” snapped Sif.

 

Thor turned his head to answer back, but thought better of such action. He could see the pull upon Sif’s lips, the devilish smirk that seemed to almost dare him to correct her, and he could see by the way her eyebrow raised in such a manner that she disbelieved how he could even have spoken such words. Her hand hovered over the spot where her weapon usually hung, out of instinct, and her eyes locked with Thor’s and refused to look away. She had heard too often such accusations that she could not understand the mind of a mother or maiden simply for her lifestyle, and no doubt she would use the means of her lifestyle to prove Thor wrong.

 

“I don’t _depend_ upon him,” said Jane with a laugh. “I think it’s safe to say that T.J. depends on me, but – I mean – it really is like falling in love! You don’t depend on fighting, do you? It’s not as though you need battle any more than I need to chase unique scientific phenomena across the globe, but you couldn’t live without it, just the same as I couldn’t live without facts and figures. T.J. is the same. I don’t _need_ him in my life, but I sure as hell couldn’t live without him.”

 

“I understand you well, Jane Foster,” Sif replied. “I do not understand the need to endure such pain for such a result, but I admire you for your choice and dedication to your son. I suspect that you shall be a fine mother.”

 

“Thank you, I certainly hope so.”

 

“Sif is right!” Thor said. “You shall be the best mother this realm has seen! I can only hope to be half the parent that you are. I swear to you that I shall be here as often as I can for T.J., for I love him dearly and he is precious to me, and I will love both my children equally and unconditionally. I will do right by my son. I promise you.”

 

“I know you will, Thor. You’re a good man.”

 

Thor looked down at the boy in his arms and smiled warmly. It felt far different to what he had expected during the pregnancy, for now that he held his son – could see those chubby cheeks and tufts of brown hair – he felt a complex rush of emotions that he had never felt possible. He wondered how his son would grow and what he would become, and if Thor’s more minimal influence would have any impact upon him, and he wondered if he would feel these same emotions upon his daughter’s birth.

 

There was a part of him that wished Loki could be there with him, but with Loki already late in his pregnancy it simply was not possible for him to travel so far from their realm, especially with talks of war already in progress. He wanted to share this with Loki. He wanted his husband to experience in all parts of his life, to see his son and perhaps bond with him also, and he wanted – more than anything – to see how Loki reacted to the _idea_ of a child and whether he would be good with a child. Their mother could only explain so much, Thor’s father could only tell so many tales, and Volstagg could only teach to a certain extent. They would have to learn much alone.

 

“How is Loki doing?” Jane asked. “He should be due soon, shouldn’t he?”

 

Thor’s thoughts turned to his husband and he gave a soft laugh. The truth was that Loki had been somewhat incorrigible as of late, to the point that many strove to avoid him at all costs, but it was understandable when he was several weeks late and ready to birth their child at any moment. It seemed – with his full magic bar that of illusions – that Loki spent almost every moment causing pranks and chaos wherever he went, with great effort spent into tormenting Fandral especially, who had yet to learn that teasing comments were not quite appreciated by the young prince.

 

“Loki is doing well, thank you,” Thor answered.

 

“Really?” Jane furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. “You seem to find the question too amusing for a man that actually thinks that, and it’s pretty hard to ignore the way that Sif seems to wince on hearing his name. Is everything okay?”

 

“I am sure that Loki would thank you for your concern were he here,” continued Thor, “but I will not deny that it has been difficult as of late. Our relationship has improved dramatically, enough that he has taken to confiding in me his fears and concerns, but he has found the pregnancy disagreeable and has not been subtle in his discomfort. I fear that the patience of the palace wears thin.”

 

“I know that mine certainly does,” Sif said sternly.

 

“You know that my husband respects you greatly! You have been much a friend to him since his release and I am grateful to you for this! I think Loki has been kind to you because of this, aside from a few sarcastic comments and snide remarks. It has been far more than what our other friends have received!”

 

“I may not have ever been with child, but there is no excuse for such tantrums!”

 

“It will not be long until our child arrives.”

 

It was difficult not to doubt his words. He loved Loki dearly, enough that he had begun to trust the other man and sought to spend his every spare moment with him, enough so that Volstagg would often laugh and call it the ‘honeymoon phase’, but it was true that Loki had grown more testy and tiresome as of late. Thor had thought it a good sign when his husband would spend hours talking to him about his emotions, just as much as he had found their new intimacy and meaningful kisses to be a sign of trust upon Loki’s part, but lately Loki had reverted back to hiding his body and refusing to talk openly with the other. Frigga had assured Thor that such behaviour was not unusual, but Thor could not help but worry: he did not wish to lose Loki.

 

“If it helps,” Jane said uncertainly, “I was pretty awful in my last few weeks, too. I felt undesirable as I was so obviously overweight, and I felt kind of useless due to the fact that I couldn’t move so much as _waddle_. I had to pee _all_ the time, T.J. moved so much that I couldn’t sleep, and then I had people constantly cooing over me and telling me how I was ‘glowing’ even when I felt a complete mess.

 

“Loki can be a complete nightmare; I’ve seen what damage that he can do when he’s angry, just as I saw how he can lash out when he’s afraid, and he isn’t one to sugar-coat what he feels, but . . . go easy on him, okay? Well, just until the baby is born. He’s probably terrified of the birth, probably feels powerless and unattractive, and I bet that everyone is stroking his stomach and talking as if he isn’t even there, which – I’ll add – does _not_ help the hormones! Oh God, and the times when people would ask me if I planned on having more children before I’d even had _this one_ , and then accused me of being ‘hormonal’ when I got annoyed -!”

 

“It sounds as if the process has been difficult upon you,” Sif said.

 

“ _That’s_ putting it lightly. Look, I can relate to Loki, just a little . . . he’s not the sentimental sort and likes his space, and I bet it’s driving him crazy that people are just seeing him as a walking incubator and worrying more about the baby than him. I mean I was _so_ worried that Donald didn’t find me attractive anymore too, and knowing Thor I bet he hasn’t stopped to even remind Loki of how handsome he is . . . aside from the ‘carrying my child’ and ‘glowing’ sorts of comments.”

 

“You know our prince too well,” replied Sif. “We are trained too much as warriors to think with our fists and not with our hearts, but there are some situations that require subtlety to which we are not familiar. You have done well to remind us of this.”

 

“I did not realise that Loki may feel this way,” said Thor. “I will make amends.”

 

“I’m sure he knows how you feel,” Jane replied.

 

Thor cast a final look to his son. It had been known from the start of his visit that his time with his son was limited, for he needed to return to their realm to plan for their talks in Jotunheim, and yet that did not make his parting any easier. He knew that his father would have a list of political points to adhere to in the discussions, a lecture upon points of etiquette that he would need abide, and yet he would rather spend that time cradling his son than spent locked inside dusty rooms. 

 

There was nought to be done, however, and so he stood careful and slid T.J. back into the arms of his mother, who took him with such a look of love that it was almost as if Thor had bestowed upon her the greatest gift imaginable. Jane accepted her son as if he belonged in her arms, as if he had never been parted from his mother at all, and it seemed as if that motherhood was something that she had been born into, destined to find, and Thor wondered from where such love came. He hoped that Loki would feel the same. He hoped that the moment that their daughter was born that everything would feel right, just as for Jane all appeared right. She looked so perfect, so at peace . . . he never wished to look away.

 

Sif placed a comforting hand upon his arm. It seemed that she sensed his reluctance to leave, his overwhelming love for his son, but she knew well what duty meant and would try to guide Thor back to their realm in time for their meeting with the Allfather. Thor took a step back to distance himself as best as he could, but he could not take his eyes away from his son. Sif stepped between him and Jane. The smile on her lips was sincere in her respect, but pained at standing between Thor and his son.

 

“You truly do have a beautiful son,” Sif said.

 

“Thank you,” replied Jane. “You’re both welcome to stay here until visiting hours are over, especially Thor, I know that T.J. would love to spend more time with his dad. I know that you have to be on your way, but if you wanted . . .”

 

“That is most kind, Jane Foster.” Sif bowed her head in respect. “Unfortunately our presence is required by the Allfather as we prepare for talks with Jotunheim. I would also add that Loki has experienced false labour, thus I would not allow my friend and prince a moment longer than needed, for this is a sign of an imminent birth.”

 

“I understand, but you promise that you’ll visit soon?”

 

Those words were difficult to bear, for they both knew well that the next visit might be too far in the future to be considered ‘soon’ by Midgardian standards. It would not have hurt him so much were their child of Asgardian physiology, for then a few weeks would be no different to a few days, and he would still have centuries to watch his son grow and learn and develop. That he could miss but a month of his son’s life forced an immense amount of guilt upon him, for one month to a human was too large an amount of time not to be missed.

 

“We are to head to Jotunheim in less than a week,” Thor said sadly. “We must talk with their leader, but we do not believe such talks will be productive. We are preparing for war. It may be many weeks before I am able to next visit.”

 

“It’s okay. We’re not going anywhere, Thor.”

 

He wondered how she could be so accepting. It was in that moment that he felt an intense bout of jealousy and frustration, for his son would be raised by both Jane and her new partner, and as such that other man – her lover – would watch T.J. grow from a small boy into a grown man. He would likely give T.J. siblings, spend each day by their side, and together they would create a family and Thor’s influence would not only be minimal, but unnoticed. Thor would be a drop of water into a large sea.

 

Jane smiled up at him with a warm and gentle expression, and in her arms their son began to gurgle and stir for the bottle that had yet to come. He wanted to hold his son and comfort him, to feed him and then to burp him, and he wanted to know that he had some influence on his child and who he would one day become, so that he had a purpose and point in his son’s life. Thor Foster. That small boy had Thor’s name and blood, but what else? Thor wanted to teach him so much, to raise him to be a wise and strong leader of his people, and to make sure that he never made the mistakes that Thor had made in his youth. He loved his boy.

 

“I truly do wish that we could stay,” Thor said.

 

“I understand.” Jane replied. “Just come back when you can, okay?”

 

“I swear to you and T.J. that I shall. Thank you, Jane.”

 

Thor looked to his son and saw that he had opened his eyes. It seemed that those small brown eyes – unfocused and somewhat straining – were locked upon him, and in that instant Thor felt the weight of responsibility and duty upon him. He walked past Sif and leaned down to place a kiss upon the head of T.J., just gently enough for the other to feel it and to feel his love, and he tried to reign in his emotions as he did so.

 

“Goodbye, my son.”

 


	24. Chapter 24

# Chapter Twenty-Four

 

“I will say it again: sit down!”

 

Loki came to a sudden stop where he stood. It was difficult to remain calm when faced with such disrespect, but he managed to quell his anger in spite of his fury. He had to remind himself that such anger was bad for Fríða; any burst of adrenaline he felt would ultimately affect his daughter in turn, and so he briefly closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath. He clenched his hands into tight fists by his sides, but stopped when he felt his nails pierce his skin. It was enough to force him to let go.

 

It seemed that Fandral saw nothing wrong with the tone of his voice or the content of his words, for he stood by the sofa tall and unrepentant, albeit the way he leaned forward spoke of one that had cast away formality and spoke out of emotion. He waved a gloved hand high about the air as if to emphasise his point somehow, but then let it hang there without any real meaning or purpose. The self-confidence in Fandral’s pose and gesturing was quite evident. It frustrated him to know that this man – his social inferior – could assume to have any authority over him, least of all when he had every right to his anger.

 

“Do you truly think your prince in need of a babysitter?”

 

“No,” Fandral snapped. “I do, however, think that he will be in need of a babysitter should he keep pacing as he does. My word, Loki! Do you not realise how ready you are to drop your child? I fear that your next step shall be your child’s first!”

 

“Why, are you scared of a little labour?” Loki replied. “I have yet to experience my first contraction, but already you would have me upon my back with legs parted! Tell me, how is it that a warrior – whose first memory is likely the blood of his enemy – be afraid of something so natural as childbirth? I wonder if your dear friend would have left me in your company had he known. You are useless to me!”

 

“Enough, enough!” Volstagg called. “Let us calm ourselves.”

 

“It is not calmness that I need!”

 

Loki winced as he felt a pain upon his side. It could not be a labour pain, for in his false labour he had learned well of the differences between the two, but it made him almost wish that this _were_ such a pain. The idea that full labour could be _worse_ than a false labour was a terrifying thought, one not helped at all by Fríða’s constant kicking as a reminder of her presence, and he could not help but run his hands over his swollen stomach with a heavy sigh. Fríða kicked again as if in response.

 

The fire centre of the room felt scorching hot against his skin, enough that he could feel the sweat upon his brow begin to trickle down, and he wondered if the Warriors Three could see the way that his hair became slick against his head. It had been difficult to move as of late. It seemed that every step was a struggle that caused him to feel fatigued and broken, whilst his previously fast pace had been reduced to a mere crawl, and he fought to walk with such a heavy weight. He despised feeling so weak and helpless, with even his sense of balance destroyed. He hated having to rely on Thor for matters of grooming and bathing, unable to see his feet or even stand without assistance, and he hated his body seemed to ache constantly as if preparing for the onslaught to come. It was only the thought of Fríða that made it bearable.

 

Fandral threw his hands into the air as if in defeat, before he dropped heavily onto the sofa with a childish look of petulance. He rested his arms upon the back and crossed his legs at the ankle, whilst the look he gave to Loki was one of sheer disbelief, and yet there did seem to be a hint of genuine concern upon his expression. It seemed as if his frustration stemmed from the worry that Loki’s pacing may be bad for the unborn child, but so long as Thor remained on Midgard it was impossible for the young prince to remain calm. He did not wish for Thor to be by Jane’s side, but by his.

 

“Then tell us, Loki,” said Fandral, “what _do_ you need?”

 

“I need for this – this _child_ to be out of me!” Loki shouted. “Do not mistake me, for I love Fríða dearly, but you have no idea what a burden it is for your body to betray you in such a manner! I cannot move, I cannot stand, and I cannot bathe! I rely on Thor for all matters, and for all else the servants or my mother, and now – _now_ – I find my husband by the side of another! I cannot stand this!”

 

“You are not the only one! I do not see why _Sif_ was able to have a trip to Midgard, whilst _we_ are forced to chaperone a heavily pregnant prince! I would not say a word against our friend, but I would that he were here, too. It hardly seems fair!”

 

“Hush now, you are both grown men!”

 

Volstagg gave a laugh and smacked his hands upon his legs. He leaned forward upon his perch on the sofa furthest from Loki, whilst he gave a warm and gentle smile that seemed to brighten the room. He looked to Loki and gave a nod of acknowledgement, before he then looked to Fandral and seemed to give him a slightly sterner gaze, and then leaned back and stared almost dreamily off at an unknown spot. It occurred to Loki then that this man – who showered him with underserved sympathy – had been through many pregnancies with his wife, and that perhaps he thus knew more about what Loki experienced than any other. He understood.

 

“I know that neither of you truly resent Jane Foster,” said Volstagg. “You both know well that she has as much right to Thor’s company as Thor has need to see his child! Our friend only intended this for to be a short trip from the start, and I have no doubt that when this war is over that Thor’s next trip shall include us all! Ah, you won’t be so envious then, you will be bored by talk of babies!”

 

“Do you truly think me _envious_?” Fandral asked. “You know me not!”

 

“I know you too well. You forget that I was your age once! It is understandable for Loki to be afraid and somewhat jealous, even if Thor is returning to us as we speak, for he is swollen with child and in need of reassurance! You are different though. Come! Let us call forth for some food and sup for a while, for it will not do to brood like an old housewife! Fandral, my friend, what reason have you to be jealous of Lady Sif when she is hardly on what can be considered an _adventure_? We will have time to fight soon enough! I say, for now, let us drink!”

 

“Unless Fandral is jealous for another reason,” Hogun said.

 

“Ha! That may be! Now perhaps seeing all his fellow men with children has made him brooding for a brood to call his own! Oh, it happens to us all at some point . . . I remember the exact moment when I saw how meaningful my life could be, and how I longed for fatherhood so that I may finally have children to dote upon!”

 

“Well,” Fandral snapped, “at least it seems that you are capable of thoughts other than food. You would truly tease me now? There are Jotun emissaries knocking upon our door, there is a meeting upon Jotunheim to attend to, and Loki verges on labour, and you – _you_ – would tease me about imaginary flirtations with female comrades! This is not the time or the place for such childish jests! We are on the verge of _war_!”

 

“A war that I cannot fight,” said Loki.

 

Loki let out a loud exhale of breath. It seemed that his frustration was somewhat contagious, for at once Hogun became more solemn than he ought and Volstagg was devoid of his previous smile. He turned to the middle sofa – upon which Hogun sat – and carefully placed himself upon the edge, an act that took great effort and caused Fríða to put pressure upon his bladder, and as he sat he noticed that Hogun shifted his position in case Loki was in need of help. Helpless indeed.

 

He wanted to prove himself. It was an established fact that a man was not a man until he fought for his realm and his people, until he shed blood and had blood shed, and yet Loki was trapped within the palace unable to fight in the least. He knew that his magic could prove to be invaluable to his husband had he the ability to fight alongside him, just as he knew that his unique fighting style and use of weaponry could be of benefit. Loki knew that his loyalty was still doubted by many, but to fight – to save the lives of those he loved – would prove him equal and loyal! It would prove his allegiance and secure his place. He knew that everything would be fine, even were he not to participate fully in battle, but to fight would make things run smoother.

 

The dagger by his side felt cold even against his clothes, and for a moment he wondered if it could be seen from underneath his coat. It would not do for the Warriors Three to know of the weapon yet, for such a weapon was his gift to Thor and acknowledged by the Allfather, and to cause arguments before then – to have them question at length why he had it and for what purpose – would only distract his husband from other topics. There were things that he needed to know first.

 

“You would wish to fight?” Fandral asked.

 

“I would wish to prove my allegiance,” answered Loki. “Let us leave aside such discussions about the worth of my sorcery. You would agree that I am _useless_ for as long as I remain locked away from the battlefield, yes? _Use me_.”

 

“I am sure that you will bring the battle to you somehow,” Hogun said.

 

“ _Ouch_ , such cold words! I believe this is where the problem lies, for if you were to allow me to fight against our Jotun foes then I could dispel this belief that I am out only for my own ends. I know that I am with child, but soon my child shall be born and she shall be born into a world in which she shall one day rule, and I would do all that I could to shape that world into one worth ruling. Let me fight.”

 

“You will have a child, Loki,” interrupted Volstagg. “You will not _want_ to fight, I can promise you that! You will wish to stay within the palace and protect what matters to you most! Come, rest, relax, all will be fine! Thor would not wish for you to risk your health and your life in a battle that we can handle just fine!”

 

“I am sure that even Thor knows that he cannot do this without me.”

 

“Your _daughter_ cannot do without you. Thor is fine!”

 

“Is that right?”

 

It was true that Thor’s priorities had changed lately. He no longer put the thrill of battle before all else, for now he knew well what sacrifice meant and the cost that was involved in war, but that did not mean that his husband had become weak as a warrior or as a leader. Thor was capable of making difficult decisions, of taking risks, and – as such – a part of Loki hoped that he would realise just how important that Loki could be and how he could turn the tides of battle.

 

The sole problem was that he loved Loki – more so than he had loved any other – and he would not put him intentionally into harm’s way, even if by doing so Loki could put them at an advantage and possibly defeat the enemy. It was perhaps the one downside to Thor’s love, for he could not avoid the other’s ‘protection’. He would likely not be able to convince his husband to use him in the upcoming war, that much was certain, and yet he would not be able to prove himself completely otherwise. Their relationship had become so much more than what it had been, although Loki had yet to admit his love or speak such words aloud, and yet Thor seemed oblivious to his needs and aspirations. It was both frustrating and amusing.

 

“You should focus more on your current attitude,” Fandral said. “You say that you wish to prove your worth and win our trust? Then stop with your petty pranks! It does nothing to win our trust when you use your magic for mischief!”

 

“I do not hear the Allfather complaining.”

 

“It is common knowledge that the Allfather gave up years ago. You are a lost cause where such trouble is concerned, but I am not the only one that has noticed his cold looks to you and heard the occasional chastisements. This is only tolerated as you are with child; I hope that you know that! The moment that Fríða Thorsdóttir is born then your little jokes won’t be tolerated any longer.”

 

“Surely it is as you say? The Allfather gave up long ago. Just so long as I do not humiliate our king or embarrass our realm, what are a few little spells here and there? This seems more like frustration that your sword cannot defeat my magic.”

 

“Loki, I swear that I -!”

 

Fandral shook his head with a dark laugh. He shot a dark glare to Loki, but it seemed that it was only half-felt and the young prince could not help but admire that. It seemed that Fandral held some respect for Loki in turn, enough to keep him from truly saying what he felt or from lashing out as he may have done in the past, and yet whether that was out of respect for Thor or for Loki was difficult to tell. He merely watched his prince with a curious and cold eye, with all warmth lacking almost entirely as he seemed to try to analyse Loki’s motivations.

 

“What do you swear?” Loki pushed.

 

“Understand, Loki,” said Volstagg kindly. “You may be able to torment those that speak ill of you, but that does not mean that you should! It is circular! You torment Fandral for insulting you, he feels slighted and so insults you more, and then you feel the insult and so torment him again! One of you must be the bigger man, and it seems that I am so big that Fandral here is left wanting! Stop your games, for our sake if not for his! I cannot do with such complaints daily!”

 

“You may have a point. I do not wish to alienate you further, for I will need you all in these years to come, especially with war about to break out at any moment now, and so I will try to make amends. I swear – upon my husband’s life – that I shall –”

 

“Loki!”

 

The pain was excruciating. Loki had not felt anything quite like it before; even during those times in battle when weapons would pierce his skin or cleave his flesh, he had not felt anything as blinding as at that very moment. He clenched his eyes tightly shut and leaned forward, as his hands clawed at his stomach through the layers of thick clothing. A cold sweat broke out upon his forehead, whilst his every breath sounded like a mere hiss. He tried to swallow back his cries.

 

It seemed that he had worried the Warriors Three quite considerably, for already Hogun had knelt beside him upon the floor and placed both hands flat upon Loki’s stomach, as if he strove to find or feel for something that Loki knew not. It was difficult to take in air when his body felt broken and shredded, especially when his stomach clenched and tightened to inhuman levels, whilst his insides burned as if layers of skin were being peeled off from within him. He felt what seemed like Fandral’s hand upon his shoulder, heard what sounded like words of support from his lips, and then the world seemed to fall back into place. The pain stopped.

 

“It is false labour,” Loki said. “Nothing more.”

 

Loki’s eyes took far longer to adjust than he wished. The pain faded, but he could hear the horrifyingly loud beat of his heart within his ears, and he could feel the cloying sweat clinging to his skin. It seemed that Volstagg and Fandral stood on either side of him; the larger man appeared sceptical, but the blond warrior was clearly frightened and unsure. Loki collapsed back against the sofa and drew in breath. Hogun continued to lightly press against his stomach, before he sat beside Loki and took his wrist to measure his pulse.

 

“Husband . . .”

 

“Thor?”

 

There was a sound of flustered and hurried movements, before Fandral was seemingly pushed aside to make room for Thor. It seemed that his husband had returned from Midgard, for there he stood both regally and filled with concern, and at once he knelt before him and lifted his hand to touch lightly upon Loki’s cheek. He could not help but to lean into it, for – even though he knew Thor’s calloused hands to be warm and full of life – they felt cold against his hot skin and gave him comfort. The moment seemed to stretch for a long while, as Thor simply stroked his cheek and gazed gently upon him, and after a while it seemed that Loki was well again.

 

Loki looked around to see that Sif had seated herself beside Fandral to the sofa at the left, whereas Volstagg had resumed his seat to the far right. It seemed that his husband was most concerned by seeing him in such pain, especially by the way those blue eyes fixated upon and flickered about his body as if in search of a cause, and soon his hands came down to grasp Loki’s and hold tightly upon him. Hogun gave a small sound where he sat next to Loki, but otherwise made no comment.

 

“Loki, what happened?”

 

“I have had such pains all day,” said Loki gently. “It is false labour, Husband. I will grant that the pains are far stronger than my last, and so I swear that I shall seek the advice of a healer should they continue, but I am fine. In an hour the pain shall come again and in an hour it shall pass. I believe that we have far greater concerns that my discomfort at the moment. How long until you leave for Jotunheim?”

 

“Such talk of war can wait,” interrupted Volstagg. “Tell us instead of your son! How is the little fellow? I imagine – being mortal – that he must take after his mother more than his father, but heaven help her if he has your appetite! What is he like?”

 

“My friends,” said Thor, “I have only just returned!”

 

“All the more reason to tell us of Thor Foster and Jane Foster! Come, Thor! This is your firstborn child and your only son! We are excited to hear all about him, especially when today has been so difficult. We are spoiling for good news! A little distraction from talks of war will be good for us all!”

 

Thor smiled warmly, but his eyes were cast down towards Loki’s hands. It was clear that he wanted nothing more than to be left alone with his husband, to talk to him at length and reassure himself that all was well with the other, but he was far too polite to ignore his oldest and most loyal friends. He stood politely and raised Loki’s hands with him, so that he could place a soft and chaste kiss to his husband’s knuckles, and then took a seat on Loki’s left. He rested his arms upon his legs and gave a somewhat dazed smile. He seemed lost in the moment.

 

“My son is well, thank you,” Thor said.

 

“He is better than well,” said Sif in turn. “He is mortal, yes, but he is stronger and larger than the other babies. He has the hair and eyes of Jane Foster, but he had the face and shape of his father. He will make the mortals proud . . . his father too.”

 

“I am relieved to hear you speak such words. It makes me proud that my son is thought of in such good terms, and yet it pains me greatly to leave him when I have had barely the chance to know him. My sole consolation is that Fríða shall be born any day now, so that such good news will distract from the bad, and then finally we shall have a family of our own . . . my place is by Loki’s side.”

 

“You are being overly maudlin,” Loki snapped. “I suspect this is due to the pains that I have experienced and the imminent labour, both of which you can do nothing to prevent and pose me no threat. I am safe and you need not worry.”

 

“Loki, how can I not worry?”

 

The tone of his voice was filled with concern. It was enough to force Loki to look at him in turn, and when he did he saw that Thor looked upon him with eyes filled with adoration and admiration. It was difficult to reconcile the kind expression that those blue eyes held with all the conflict of their past, so that a part of Loki instinctively bristled and wondered what hidden motive his husband had, and yet something in him trusted Thor and knew that he only wanted what was best.

 

Thor reached a hand to Loki’s neck and allowed his hand to rest there for a moment, which caused the younger prince to lean his head backwards as he welcomed the touch. He did not care what the others around them thought. His reaction was out of sheer instinct, a desperate need to seek out a cool touch to soothe the burn upon his skin, and a part of him – a dark part that made him ache in self-loathing – wondered if his people found great relief from each other when with child. He wondered if the cold touch of a Jotun would ease his discomfort, if the snow of that realm would allow him to breathe easier, and then he remembered that the people he suddenly envied were those that he hated. He would not wish to be like them.

 

“Let us talk of the war instead,” Loki muttered.

 

Thor seemed to notice how his husband leaned into the touch, and brought his other hand to touch upon Loki’s and hold them yet again. Loki felt for a moment as if he were melting, lost in comfort and relief, and it reminded him of those summer months as children when they would dive into a cool pond to stave off the heat and cleanse themselves of the sweat. He did not wish for Thor to let go.

 

“What would you have me say?” Thor asked. “My father has asked for my immediate presence to discuss the terms of the inevitable war, along with the conditions set upon Jotunheim for surrender or an alliance. I will then set for Jotunheim.”

 

“You will go alone?” Fandral interrupted. “That is surely madness!”

 

“Aye, it would be, but I shall not go alone. I am to take you with me. My friends, – my fellow warriors, – the five of us shall stand proud in Jotunheim as emissaries and messengers to our realm. It is my hope that we shall find a middle ground with Jotunheim and prevent this war. I would not see a single drop of blood shed, for the lives of my people and my husband’s people are dear to me, but – should the worst happen – then it is possible that we will return to Asgard with a declaration of war.”

 

“Then what reason do we have to wait further? We should speak with the Allfather at once and be on our way to Jotunheim, that way we can be back with the inevitable news of war before the day is out. Loki’s pains are too regular for it to be nothing. Hogun himself seems to suspect that the birth will be sometime soon.”

 

“Your sympathy knows no bounds,” Loki snapped.

 

“Wait,” said Thor. “Do you truly suspect that Loki shall be in labour soon? I will not leave him if there is any chance that he may birth our child in my absence! I must be by his side and support him through the process.”

 

“Thor, I _know_ my body! I am fine!”

 

Loki tried to wrench himself forward from the sofa. He managed to free himself from Thor’s touch, but the weight and size of his stomach prevented him from standing, so that instead he fell at once back against his will. He drew in a loud hiss of breath and closed his eyes to calm himself, although when Thor reached out to touch his neck he realised that remaining calm was an impossible feat. It was infuriating to be coddled when he wanted to lash out, more so when he was forced to submit simply as he hadn’t the balance to stand. He settled for calm diplomacy instead.

 

“You must go to Jotunheim.”

 

“Loki, I can –”

 

“You must also take this with you . . .”

 

Loki reached to his side to withdraw the dagger from its holster, where it had lain hidden until that moment. He ignored the way that Fandral at once began to protest, just as he ignored Hogun’s harsh intake of breath, and instead he rested it upon both of his open palms and held it before Thor like an offering. The dagger felt heavy in his hands and sat as an open invitation. Thor seemed reluctant to take it, even though there was clearly no threat in the gesture or harm in the weapon. 

 

The dagger was familiar in design, although far unlike any of those that Loki carried on his person, and the golden hilt was clearly one that denoted that its owner was royalty and its purpose ceremonial. It took Thor far longer than it should to take a hold of the hilt, and when he lifted it he seemed to look at it with a curious and uncertain glance. Loki wondered if he recognised it for what it was. It seemed that the object was alien to Thor, for he turned it in his hands as if searching for some hidden answer, and eventually he slipped into his belt for safe-keeping, even as Sif advised against it and Fandral suggested that it may be cursed. He lifted his hand to raise Loki’s chin and look him in the eye.

 

“Loki, what is this?”

 

“This is a peace offering for the Jotuns,” said Loki. “I have done much research and scoured the weaponry with the Allfather’s permission. It is fortunate that Odin Allfather allowed me to present this to you, for I believe it shall help appease their new king and prove that we seek to make amends for our past misdeeds, as well as to give back to them what is rightfully theirs. You cannot, of course, give them back their _prince_ , but this I think will be an acceptable substitute.”

 

“Do you plan to tell us what this is?” Sif asked.

 

“I do not have time to recite to you historical tales of our people, for my stomach is beginning to cramp and I also fear that those who ignored their lessons the first time around shall not remember them the second. I shall simply say that in a battle – long ago – two great kings fought. It was not one of the kings that fell, but the wife of one that was loved above all others and almost worshipped by her people, and on her death two realms grieved and both men mourned. This dagger is the very dagger that felled her. Our king took the dagger for memorial purposes, but I feel that restoring it to its rightful owner shall assure them that all is forgiven, that we hold no grudges and would give back what is owed. It is a symbolic gesture.”

 

“I see,” continued Sif. “You would have us give to the king an item stolen from him, but was also used by his ancestor to kill our queen. You would have us relinquish this item to show that we wish to forget the past, that we no longer cling to it.”

 

“Something like that, yes.”

 

Sif rose from where she sat and walked to their side. It seemed that she had focussed her eyes upon the hilt of the dagger, that was just in her sight from beneath Thor’s cape at his side, and as she stood there – simply watching – it seemed that all those within the room looked to her expectantly. Fandral locked his gaze on her, whilst Thor seemed uncertain as to whether to relinquish the dagger to her or to laugh away her sudden interest. It seemed – after a while – that her curiosity was sated and she accepted the weapon for what it was: a simple peace offering.

 

Loki allowed himself a long, silent sigh as Sif stepped away, although no sooner had she done so did Volstagg rise with a loud groan and an obvious stretch, almost like one awakening from a long slumber. They would need to leave soon in order to speak to the Allfather and reach Jotunheim in time, and yet Loki felt a stab of loss and longing at the thought of his husband leaving for any length of time. He had to remind himself that Thor’s actions would benefit their realm.

 

It was then that the pain struck Loki again. He dropped his head forward and pressed his hands firmly to his stomach, as if he could somehow force the pain back inside and away from his mind. The sweat that broke upon his head felt cold against his hot skin, a bizarre conflation of sensations that was almost painful, and as he tried to gain his breath he felt again hands upon him and heard the shuffling of those around him. The pain passed quicker this time – albeit more intense than the last – and as he opened his eyes he saw Thor and Hogun kneeling beside him, with the latter’s hands upon his stomach again. He drew in a deep breath and stood shakily to his feet, although those beside him stood also.

 

“I must leave now,” Loki said.

 

“Loki, these talks can wait,” replied Thor. “Are you well?”

 

“These talks _cannot_ wait. You will make peace with our enemies, as is your duty as our prince and our future king. If you fail in your task, an unfortunate likelihood given the Jotuns grievances, I shall fight alongside you and protect you from their wrath.”

 

“You need not protect me, Husband, for I _know_ that you are capable of fighting by my side as my equal. You have nothing to prove, Loki! There will be hundreds of fights in the future, thousands of adventures, and you shall be by my side for each one – saving my life, defeating my foes – and we shall fight _together_ , but _not now_. Now you must focus only upon our child. Tell me, is this labour? Need I stay?”

 

“I am fine, I promise you. I will have the guards escort me to my rooms so that I may meditate for a while and speak to those that I would speak with, and should these pains progress then I will seek help from the healers. _I am fine_.”

 

“Will you promise me that?”

 

Loki wanted to chastise Thor for his childish worrying, but he refrained from doing so as they had already made great progress in their relationship, and to begin an argument now would undo all the trust that he had earned. He wanted to be alone. He needed the time to use his magic and meditate upon such conflicts, to speak to those that he would speak to, and – perhaps – such distraction would take from his pains that were slowly growing more constant.

 

It seemed that Thor would not let Loki leave without being sure that all was well, but such a reassurance would be empty indeed. Loki suspected that the pains he felt were possibly ones of contraction, a thought evidently shared by Hogun, and so as Thor left for Jotunheim the chances would be that he would fall into labour. It was something that he did not wish to experience alone. Loki smiled for his husband’s sake, as he knew that Thor was needed more elsewhere, and took a step away from those around him so as to distance himself. He looked to the door and saw that the guards waited to escort Thor and his friends to the Allfather.

 

“I promise you that I am fine. Do not worry for me.”

 

“I will always worry for you.”

 

Thor smiled upon Loki in a warm manner. He seemed to contemplate for a moment what the best course of action was to be, but he likely knew well that Loki would not accept a shirking of duty merely to attend to him at such a time. Thor reached out to stroke Loki’s cheek, before he turned to his friends and gestured towards the door, and when he spoke his voice was filled with confidence.

 

“Come, let us away!”

 


	25. Chapter 25

# Chapter Twenty-Five

****

Thor struck the wall hard.

 

It was impossible to endure such feelings. He felt helpless – broken and castrated – and it seemed that all he could do was to pace, with nothing to do but to wear a hole upon the stone underfoot. Thor could not remember the last time that he had heard Loki scream, for even in his most grief-stricken moments he had reined some control over his emotions, and so this – this primal and desolated scream – was alarming. It spoke of an untold pain. It spoke of fear.

 

Thor hated being unable to tend to his husband, forbidden from so much as mopping his brow or holding his hand. He wanted to do something, _to act_ , for Loki needed him! He had sworn to always protect his husband, to always support him, and yet he could do nothing to stop the pain or to ease the birth, and so Loki would continue to suffer as Thor simply paced and fretted. He felt useless. He needed a task to be given or else he feared that he would go insane, and so with each scream that was given – each sound that he could not cease – he felt his fists clench and his body tense. Loki suffered and whilst he suffered so too did Thor.

 

“There is nought you can do, Thor.”

 

Thor looked to his father and tried to calm himself. The older man merely sat upon a cushioned bench outside the doors to the delivery room, with his eyes cast low even as his head was raised high, and his expression was virtually unreadable. Thor thought he could detect worry and concern around those wrinkled eyes, eyes that would tense slightly upon every cry of pain, and he was certain that those clasped hands within the royal lap were clasped to force back any perceptible tremors.

 

It was enough to make him wonder whether his father felt the same way as he did, whether he felt frustrated or not by his inability to act. He was sure that Odin feared for Loki, for he had raised the other man and so little was known about Jotun births, and he would likely fret until he knew that all was well. Odin would not wish to lose Loki. How did he hide his emotions in such an admirable manner? Thor wished he held the same self-control as his father. He could only think of how dangerous Asgardian births could be, of how pained Loki sounded . . .

 

He felt a twinge of pain in his hand. He looked down to see a trickle of blood and then looked to see the hole upon the wall, where cracked plaster and stone crumbled onto the floor, and at once he felt grateful that only Odin and himself were allowed within the antechamber. In the waiting room beyond he could make out the sound of Fandral asking if any news had been heard, along with Volstagg’s reassurance, and he felt glad that he waited apart from his friends. He would not have them see him this way.

 

“I should never have left! I should have stayed!”

 

“You were needed elsewhere, Thor,” said Odin. “Loki understands well that our obligation to our realm must supersede our familial duties, and so he hid his labour from you. It would not do for you to risk war by breaking your appointment with Jotunheim; especially when there is nought that a father may do in labour but wait. Loki made your choice for you and he chose correctly. He is due respect.”

 

“I am to believe that nothing is amiss? I am not like you or Loki! I would not risk the life of any one person simply to be certain of the lives of many! Loki is my husband and I love him dearly, even if I had not thought such love possible! I have done wrong by not being here when he needed me most!”

 

“Then it seems that I was wrong about Loki.”

 

Thor stood before his father. The older man sat in his most basic of armour, for he had no need of ceremonial or battle attire, and so he seemed smaller than Thor had remembered. He simply appeared as a man. It was a disconcerting sight; this was his role model, this was the person that he strove to be like and admired above all else, and yet he appeared simply as a father-in-law worrying for the lives of his son-in-law and granddaughter. Thor realised then that Odin was not all-powerful. He was fallible. He was fallible and there could be no certainty of Loki and Fríða’s safety.

 

“He complements you well,” Odin continued. “He is wise enough to understand political needs and prioritise accordingly, and he will likely be the advisor to you that my queen had always envisioned. I had thought lowly of him upon his return to Asgard, but he has proven that he suits you well, and what you lack in political foresight he shall give to you in turn. You will do well with him by your side.”

 

“Loki proved that he was not fit to rule alone,” replied Thor. “I have discovered myself that I, too, cannot bear that responsibility alone. It may well be that together we can succeed, but only if our weaknesses are acknowledged and fought to be overcome, and I fear that you and my husband underestimate your weaknesses.”

 

“You would criticise your king?”

 

“I would criticise any man that thinks nought of manipulating his subjects, or that his will is to be absolute, or believes in the inferiority of an entire race. I think even less of the man that would sacrifice even a single soul in battle.”

 

“Then you know not what it means to rule a kingdom. Tell me, whom do you speak of when you say such words? Do you speak of the father that raised you or the husband loves you? The weight of our realm will one day fall upon your shoulders, such a heavy burden will require all that I have taught you should you wish to maintain the status quo, and I can only hope that you will listen to Loki when that time comes.”

 

The scream that came from the room beyond broke their conversation in two, and forced both men to look to the doors as if in search of an answer. Thor could feel a heavy weight within his stomach and throat, as if his very organs had revolted against him in some way, and as he heard Loki cry he wanted nothing more than to go to him and wipe away his tears. He hated that the other was in pain. He would swap places in a moment if he could, and yet all he could do was listen and wait . . .

 

Thor drew in a deep breath to centre himself. He disliked that his father could change opinions so quickly, especially in areas where the security of their realm was at stake, and so it was difficult to bite his tongue. It made him wonder just how Loki had proved his allegiance and to what end, even if he had perhaps spoken to Odin at length to conceive a plan to invoke war, for there was muchthat was worthy of suspicion regarding their talks upon Jotunheim. He did not know what Loki would gain from such a war, but he suspected that Odin would use the war as an excuse to secure his throne and to force a lesson upon Thor about duty and sacrifice. Thor smiled to himself and wondered if he had absorbed Loki’s cynicism.

 

“Loki has proven his allegiance?”

 

“He is trusted enough to rule beside you,” said Odin. “He is not yet trusted enough as to be given back his power of illusion or for it to be time to announce your coronation, but if things continue to proceed positively then it is only a matter of time.”

 

“I – I cannot talk politics now. I am sorry.”

 

“You are worried.”

 

“You are not?”

 

Odin stood from his seat. It was not uncommon for the older man to hold an aversion to sitting whilst another stood, for – aside from the throne – very few seats were made to place their sitter higher than those around them that stood. Odin was a king and ruler, and as such it was not his place to look up to those in his presence, and he would likely wish to remind Thor of his power and position. It was not done to intimidate or to boast, but merely out of instinct and propriety. He stood regally.

 

“I feel distress upon hearing the cries of Loki,” Odin admitted. “It is difficult to sever those feelings of parental love, and I would not see him suffer a moment longer than is necessary for the birth of my granddaughter. I worry not, however.”

 

“How can you not worry?”

 

“Loki is not the only one to research Jotun physiology. The births that Jotuns experience are considerably less dangerous than those of Asgardian blood, and so our healers’ priority is to simply ease his pain and monitor Fríða’s progress. He will heal as an Asgardian. Any tears will be held together so that they will repair, and any blood lost will be quickly replenished. He will bleed for some weeks, but that is normal and to be expected. Loki will be well.”

 

“What of his cries, his slurs? He slanders me between screams!”

 

“Do you worry for your relationship? You are not the only one to hear how he curses you and damns you, Thor, and nor are you the first man to hear such words said about him so coldly and sincerely. Loki blames you as you caused his pain. The pain has blinded him to reason, and so he merely sees that your participation in the initial act has caused his agony now, but this resentment will pass when he sees what a beautiful child his sacrifice has brought. The moment that a parent holds their child, they forget the pain that had been wrought upon them. I imagine that your eldest friend will tell you many a story of his wife and her deliveries.

 

“Loki is not the first to show anger during the birthing process, nor will he be the last. This is not something that I have discussed before, for it is hardly appropriate to discuss such personal details of birth or pregnancy, but I believe that it may prove reassuring to you to hear spoken of it. Your mother, however, was one that put even Loki to shame. The language that she used would make the strongest of warriors blush with shame, and I myself was afraid of her wrath. It is normal.”

 

Thor could not find such consolation in those words; even if a thousand Asgardian women had endured such pain before Loki, it mattered not for _they were not Loki_. He did not care that such pain was normal, not when his husband was the one to endure it. Loki seemed to suffer immensely, so much so that every so many minutes a scream was issued forth and the rest of the time there seemed to be broken sobbing, and Thor felt lost. He needed to help Loki. He needed to be by his side!

 

“I care not,” said Thor. “I must go to him!”

 

It was his duty to tend to Loki. He cared not about social convention or the rules of the healers, for the only place that he needed to be was by the side of his husband, and yet that was the one place he was forbidden. It was not enough that Frigga was with him: Thor needed to be there. He could not help but begin to pace again, for if he did not maintain some form of movement then he would be forced to dwell upon the way that Loki cursed his name and screamed in pain.

 

He had always made it his duty to ease Loki’s pain. He remembered a time as children when Loki had climbed a tree to obtain an apple, but fallen upon the ground and skinned his knee. Thor had told Loki that it was okay to cry, even as what was once his brother tried to hold in his tears, and he had climbed the tree and brought down an armful of apples for Loki rather than one. He had followed by slashing a deep scar down the tree, so that the younger man would always remember that nothing would stand in Loki’s way so long as Thor was by his side. It meant, of course, that Loki would occasionally fake tears to get his way, having learned of how protective Thor was, but it was worth it to Thor to see him smile.

 

“You know that you cannot enter.”

 

Thor looked to the doors and heard briefly his name being called by his father, almost as if the other man saw what he made to do, but he ignored the call of his king and instead walked to the doors with purpose. He placed his hands upon the door handles and thought of how his place was this side of the doors, the expectation that he wait until the delivery was over. He did not wish to break the rules, but he could hear at that moment Loki start to weep and ask for death . . .

 

“Thor! _Thor_!”

 

The calling of his name was lost upon him. Thor at once threw open the doors and slammed them shut behind him, confident in the knowledge that Odin Borson would not presume to trespass in such a forbidden room at such a private moment, and instead he looked around desperately for his husband. It seemed that the delivery room was much alike any other healing room, but that there appeared to be more healers bustling to and fro than Thor was otherwise used to.

 

It appeared that the room was divided into two halves, with wooden screens to both the left and right to hide those two sections of the room from view, albeit with a large space between the two that Thor assumed served as a walkway. He ignored the two healers around him, that struggled to dispose of reddened cloths and prepare fresh ones, and instead he walked to the centre of the room to peer behind those two sets of screens. The screens to the right appeared to hide a surgical area, where Eir stood washing her hands and instructing a younger healer to prepare some instruments in a certain manner, but to the left he saw Loki. He had found his husband.

 

The bed – that had been completely hidden from the door by the screen – was now revealed to him, and he could see Loki leaning upon it with his forearms as he stood at its side. There was a small table to his right, pressed against the wall, which seemed to hold shards of ice inside a large bowl and a wet rag of cloth, and opposite Loki stood Frigga. She appeared worried and afraid.

 

“Prince Thor, perhaps you would rather wait outside?”

 

He looked to Loki and saw his husband look back. Loki was dressed only in a green robe that fell to his knees, whilst his long hair was pulled back and slicked with sweat, although a lock or two had fallen out of place. His skin appeared so pale that Thor was certain that he caught a blue tinge, and his eyes were bloodshot and held black bags beneath them. It was not the Loki that he was used to seeing. This was a man broken by pain that would have collapsed to the floor were it not for the bed under his arms to support him, and he appeared lost . . . out of place.

 

“No, I would not.”

 

“Please,” said a healer from behind him, “I am sure that Prince Loki would prefer privacy at a time such as this. You may wait within the antechamber. I promise that we will call you the moment that your daughter is delivered.”

 

“I will wait beside my husband! I will not leave him!”

 

“Please, it is inappropriate! Prince Thor!”

 

Thor ignored the words of the healer and went straight to Loki’s side, where he at once situated himself between the wall and his husband, so that the healers could tend to Loki without his presence providing an obstacle. Loki appeared to drop his gaze and stared hard upon the surface of the bed, although Thor was certain that his husband’s eyes were unfocussed anyway, and he appeared to shake with his currently silent cries. Thor swallowed hard and looked to Frigga.

 

“How long?”

 

“Since you left,” said Frigga quietly. “We suspect that he has been in labour for far longer than that, but he appears to have hidden his symptoms so that you would not delay your trip to Jotunheim. Your father considers it an admirable self-sacrifice, so that no offence would be dealt to the Jotun race, but it was a foolishly reckless action on Loki’s behalf. The labour has been left too long, no medicine can be given.”

 

“I can hear his cries from the antechamber! My friends can hear his screams from the waiting room! Fandral and Sif are in a panic, and I cannot blame them! You would leave him like this? Surely something can be done!”

 

“N-nothing can be done,” Loki snapped. “I – I do not endure this for – for fun!”

 

“Loki, there must be something!”

 

Thor reached to the table beside him, where he wrapped some shards of ice into the cloth that lay beside them. He was not sure what possessed him to do so, for he doubted such a simple gesture would cease the pain, but he remembered how Loki had been comforted by the cold during the pregnancy. It seemed that Loki was oblivious to his actions, as when he pressed the cloth to his husband’s forehead the younger man reared back a little in surprise.

 

“T-thank you, do not move it.”

 

“I hope this can help until more can be done,” said Thor helplessly. “I need to know: is all okay with my husband and child? You have been in labour since I left and an hour since I have returned, yet there is no child to show for it. I worry.”

 

“All seems well, my son,” Frigga replied. “We do not know enough about the Jotun physiology to be certain, but Loki’s passage has changed form enough to block the bowels and allow room for the child. It has also dilated enough to allow Fríða exit. Eir is excited to learn from Loki, so that future generations need not suffer as he does, but I am merely relieved that Fríða is ready to be born. It is a matter of minutes, Thor.”

 

“It does not _feel_ like minutes,” spat Loki.

 

He then let out a piercing scream. It was loud and shrill enough that Thor felt a sharp pain in his ears, whilst his hand was almost pushed away by how Loki dropped his head forward, and yet he kept the cloth there as much as he could. The sweat on Loki’s forehead could not be ignored, and nor could the way that he seemed to nuzzle into the cold and seek it out actively. The scream eventually died down and at once Eir was kneeling upon the floor behind Loki, where she lifted his gown and looked at a part of his husband that caused a sharp sense of anger to pool in Thor, even if he knew that her look was clinical and needed.

 

She examined Loki closely, whilst Frigga leaned upon the bed also and took Loki by his hands. He began to sob as she held tightly to him, a sight that caused her to smile weakly with tears in her eyes, but from her he drew comfort and seemed to relax as the pain passed for a brief moment. Thor wondered why Loki stood, if it were somehow easier for Loki or for Eir, but those thoughts were shaken from him when Eir removed her hands and signalled for a cushion to be brought to her.

 

“It will be soon time to push,” said Eir.

 

A healer came to give her a cushion to place beneath her knees, whilst another two stood close enough to come when called and far enough to not be an obstruction, and Eir stroked lightly on Loki’s lower leg as if to comfort him. Thor took direction from her and used his free hand to rub circles on his husband’s lower back, with a touch firm and somewhat unsure. The ice in his other hand melted and water began to drip down onto the bed with Loki’s tears.

 

“T-tell me of the t-talks,” Loki said. “Distract me!”

 

“Loki, I do not think such talks comforting,” replied Thor. “I would –”

 

“Tell me! I – I cannot bear these pains much longer . . . am I – am I to be left oblivious to politics, merely for this – this agony? Do not leave me ignorant . . . do not leave me with n-nothing to focus on . . . distract me. Tell me.”

 

“War has been officially declared,” said Thor. “The gift to their king was taken badly. They claim it to be an offence, for the queen that died – married to our king – was of Jotun blood, and they say that the dagger that felled her is merely a reminder that those of Asgard are not men of their word. They see us as barbarians . . . warmongers. They asked whether we gave them the dagger as a threat as to what would happen were they not to submit.”

 

“T-that cannot be . . . I did my research . . .”

 

“Their king says that the one who suggested such a gift had misunderstood the meaning behind that event, perhaps that they failed to understand the intricacies of Jotun culture and etiquette. He then said that as my ‘bride’ was Jotun that I would have known it would be taken as an offence, that it was surely intentional.”

 

“Then they – they declared war?”

 

Thor tried to ignore how Eir sat behind Loki. He wondered why her hands seemed to return beneath the gown, what it was that she felt and searched for, but he trusted in her expertise and turned his gaze to Loki instead. It was difficult to gauge his husband’s reaction, but he appeared to be deeply distressed by the prospect of war and he seemed to cry afresh. It was not a good omen for such a birth.

 

“There is something else,” said Thor. “They stated that an emissary of our realm came to them before my visit with the Warriors Three and Lady Sif. They said that such an emissary convinced them that without war that they would be forever trodden beneath the foot of the Allfather, that this would be the only way to regain their reputation and rebuild their kingdom. They said that there was the implied threat of destruction if were they not to comply. The emissary then left their realm.”

 

The dark look on Loki’s face was hard to miss, even through the agony that he endured and the pain that shone brightly upon him. He seemed to pick up on the unsaid question, that such an emissary would have had to pass Thor and his company to reach Jotunheim, and he seemed to hear the implication that only magic could have secured such a feat. It was possible the Jotun king lied, but what would he have to gain from such lies? Thor did not wish to suspect the worst of Loki, especially at such an excruciating moment, but it seemed that Loki already believed himself under suspicion. He looked devastated by such an accusation.

 

It was then that Loki’s hands clenched upon the sheets. They tore small holes into the fabric as he pressed his head down against the bed, trapping Thor’s hand with the ice-soaked cloth between them, and he began to sob in earnest. It seemed that his entire body began to shake and shiver, whilst Eir frowned and seemed to adjust her grip, and meanwhile Thor felt helpless once more. When Loki raised his head, Thor saw that his eyes were completely red . . . like a Jotun. He seemed dazed and confused.

 

“N-no such emissary was authorised . . . were they not?”

 

“No,” said Thor. “It is why I must ask that neither you or Mother had any part in this. I fear to ask – especially as it is an insult upon you both – but there is the concern that magic may have been used, and no one else holds such skills as you two do.”

 

“My son,” Frigga answered, “it is impossible for Loki to have projected himself. The servants that discovered him within his rooms did so much an hour after you set off, at which time the pain was so great that it would surely have jolted him from any projection and prevented such talks. It means that he would not have had enough time to do as you suggest with contractions so close. Do you think even Loki capable of repressing such pain to concentrate so? I myself would not act in such a manner.”

 

“I am sorry, Mother, I know it wrong to ask, but I had –”

 

“It is time to deliver,” interrupted Eir.

 

The look that Loki gave to Thor was one of true terror. He seemed to dread the moment of delivery and looked ready to run, although they both knew that such an option was impossible. There could be no mistaking the way that those red eyes shimmered with tears or the way that his body shook uncontrollably, and there was no mistaking Loki’s newfound silence or the way that his lips trembled like a child that faced punishment from an elder. He was afraid.

 

Eir and Frigga helped Loki up onto the bed, easing him onto all fours, and when Thor questioned such an action he found himself chastised. He heard Eir reassure Loki that such a position would use gravity to its advantage, that it would ease the pain in his back and also make delivery easier for Eir. There was talk of dilation and tearing, followed by talk of risks and contractions, but such talk was lost upon Thor as he stood by his husband’s head, and looked into his eyes to see the pain and fear. He dropped the cloth and instead reached for the ice itself. Loki keened as Thor pressed the ice straight to his forehead and smiled brokenly, although his smile was only a hundredth of what it once was. Eir then positioned herself behind Loki.

 

It did not seem long at all before Loki began to scream in earnest. Thor was afraid that his husband would tear his throat or lose his voice, for it seemed that he was no longer breathing, and all that Thor could hear was a long and continuous scream. There were moments when Loki would stop out of exhaustion, but he would soon start again not longer after he was instructed to push. He did not know how much time passed. All Thor knew was that his husband suffered and such suffering would not end . . . Loki seemed to be at breaking point . . . Thor did not know how much he could endure . . .

 

“Congratulations, Prince Loki,” said Eir.

 

Thor found himself snapped out of his thoughts. It seemed that the delivery had lasted an indefinite amount of time, with the worry and pain causing each moment to merge into the one previous, but finally there seemed to be an end. Loki collapsed upon his side as the tears streamed down his face, whilst Frigga rubbed circles upon his back and whispered soft words to him, and then – distracting Thor from his husband’s exhausted wracks of breath – he saw Eir hand something to a healer.

 

It was then that he saw her: Fríða. He could see that she was still and unmoving, whilst the healer wrapped her in a long cloth, and he could see that she made no sign of life as the healer took her across the room to be washed from the fluids that coated her and smothered her. Thor felt afraid. He feared that Fríða had been born without life, or that perhaps she had choked upon the blood and fluids of the one that bore her, and as he felt his heart race – his panic accelerating – he saw the healer return with a smile upon her face. She walked towards Thor whilst Eir seemed to tend to Loki below, as if there were still work to be done. Loki seemed oblivious to all.

 

“Welcome Fríða Thorsdóttir,” said the healer.

 

“My daughter is well? You took her so quickly, what is wrong?”

 

“We feared that she lacked for air . . .”

 

The healer passed the child to Thor gently. He was grateful that he had visited his son, for it enabled him to know the correct way to hold his daughter without harming her in any way. She felt small and fragile in his hold, so small that he was certain that he could hold her with but one hand, and as he held her he could not help but feel awed by how light that she was in comparison to his son. Fríða was beautiful, but she did not appear to be predominately Asgardian in nature. She looked Jotun.

 

“I took her to clear her airway and resuscitate her,” admitted the healer, “but I quickly discovered that she is of perfect health. It seems that her blue skin is due to her Jotun heritage. Princess Fríða seems to have taken after Prince Loki.”

 

“N-no,” choked Loki. “That cannot be! Give her to me!”

 

“Prince Loki, it is perfectly –”

 

“ _Give her to me_!”

 

Thor looked down to his daughter. _Beautiful_. He could not help but smile, for she seemed to be the perfect mixture of both parents. She held Loki’s high brow and narrow face, thankfully his smaller nose also, but of Thor she held his lips and cheeks and the shape of his eyes . . . he had no doubt that she would grow to be far more beautiful than any maiden in the realm. He cared not about her red eyes or blue skin, for she was perfect. _Perfect_. It hurt him to put her down, even for a moment.

 

He carefully slid her upon the bed beside Loki, although the sound of her slight murmuring caused his heart to tighten in guilt, and at once he wished that he could cradle her to him and ease her discomfort. Loki seemed to struggle to keep his eyes open, but the moment that she was placed beside him he became fully alert and pulled her against his chest. He cuddled her and pushed his nose against her head. It was almost adorable how he seemed to breathe in her scent, how he stroked her cheek with such admiration, and he even muttered words to her that Thor could not hear or decipher. Thor did not know whether it was magic or a reaction to Loki’s warm touch, but at once she began to change . . . she began to look Asgardian.

 

“Loki, our daughter . . . she is –”

 

Thor dropped to his knees and touched her now pink cheeks. It was difficult to tell the colour of her eyes when she had yet to open them for longer than a second at a time, but he was certain that he caught a glimpse of green beneath those eyelids, and her hair was a beautiful shade of blond that matched Thor’s in every way. He thought he heard his mother briefly mention how hair could change colour later in life, that Sif herself had once the blondest hair in the realm, and then some talk of a placenta, but he was too lost in thoughts of love to absorb what was said.

 

“ _Now_ she is perfect,” Loki said.

 

“Loki, she was always perfect. I cannot take my eyes from her!”

 

“I am simply glad that her Jotun form did not stick,” murmured Loki. “It would be a fate worse than death for her, especially when we are to go to war against the very people that share her heritage. It would have been a great issue.”

 

“It would be no issue at all,” whispered Frigga. “You did not see the look of love that Thor wore as he saw her, a love that was not the slightest bit diminished despite the shade of her skin, and my son will worship her until the day that he can no longer. We must have a celebration in Fríða’s honour. I will arrange it for when you have fully healed, but until then I must tell the others that all is well. They worry greatly.”

 

“Tell them that all is well. Tell them that an Asgardian has been born.”

 

“I will tell them that an _heir_ has been born.”

 

“Fríða . . . heir . . .”

 

Loki’s eyes drifted closed. It seemed that he had fallen asleep with Fríða in his arms, and it was then that Thor realised that he was crying. The tears fell from his face in a rather unmanly display, but he could not hold them back, for he felt such love for his husband and daughter that it seemed to be the only expression of his emotions. Fríða seemed so peaceful as she lay there, whilst Loki’s complexion finally lightened into his usual hue and the sweat upon his forehead seemed to lessen. The two of them seemed so perfect together. He never wished to forget that moment.

 

He did not even notice when Frigga slipped away into the antechamber, nor did he notice when Eir seemed to whisk a large item away from Loki and appeared to tend to him in more detail. He only noticed Loki’s soft breathing and the way it ruffled Fríða’s soft blonde hair, and he could not help but lean into his daughter and place a soft kiss upon her cheek, followed by a chaste kiss to his husband’s lips. He drew in a shuddering breath and smiled warmly.

 

“I love you . . .”

 

 


	26. Chapter 26

# Chapter Twenty-Six

****

Thor smiled down upon Fríða.

 

He could not yet bring himself to let go of his daughter. It was as if he were falling in love with her, for such an intense desire to protect and nurture he had never felt before, and every movement that she made fascinated him. He had never understood the words that his mother spoke about such parental love before, but suddenly they all seemed to make sense to him. _This was his daughter_. He held her life literally within his hands; such a responsibility weighed heavy – yet gladly – upon him.

 

The past week since the birth had been less difficult than he had envisioned, albeit the love that he felt for Fríða had made him oblivious to the world around him and the difficulties of parenting. Loki had suffered immense exhaustion since the birth, as well as a reluctance to change his routine as he studied obsessively war tactics and Jotun politics, and as such he had only worsened his tiredness. It meant that Loki had found it difficult to tend to Fríða’s needs. Thor did not mind, for – against his parents’ suggestions of finding a suitable nurse – it enabled him to look after her completely and fully, and he relished in the chance to bond with his daughter. He would gladly take the sleepless nights for every second that Fríða spent in his arms.

 

Fríða stirred in his arms and opened her eyes. He could not help but smile down upon the sight of such beautiful green irises, but soon they closed again and she appeared to fall into a deep sleep. He sat comfortably in the chair beside Loki’s daybed, whilst his friends congregated close by and huddled about him, and from beside him he could hear his husband turning pages of a book as he lay beneath a blanket. Thor could not take his eyes from his daughter to see if Loki was well, but he had faith in the healers and in his husband’s health. He knew that all was fine. 

 

“You must let her go eventually, friend,” said Volstagg kindly.

 

“He shall never let her go,” replied Loki. “I fear that he shall walk into battle with our daughter strapped to his chest, prepared to pause in his killing blow to ready her bottle. I have barely had chance to hold her and I am the one that bore her!”

 

“Ah, that is a blessing, Loki! You need time to recover and heal, especially so when the birth was so difficult, and it is very rare to find a father so involved! I love my children more than life itself, I would kill for them and die for them, but – I will tell you this honestly – I would not awaken five times a night to tend to them! True, I took turns with my wife, but even twice a night was very taxing!”

 

“I should be grateful to have a husband so attentive, is that it?”

 

“Aye, many men are not so thoughtful!”

 

Volstagg slapped his hand upon Thor’s back. The jolt of the action caused him to lurch forward slightly and disturbed Fríða, who had taken a long time to settle, and at once a loud cry echoed about the living area. It was an almost unbearable sound; it was not due to any annoyance or the issue of volume, it was simply as Thor could not bear to see his daughter in any discomfort or pain. He wanted only what was best for her. He wanted to see her smile and laugh, never to cry or scream, and he knew then that he would spend a lifetime spoiling her. Fríða would want for nothing.

 

“Allow me,” said Loki.

 

“Do not fret yourself, Loki,” Volstagg replied. “I will be happy to tend to my niece!”

 

Thor turned his head to give an apologetic look. It was difficult not to feel a little guilty when he saw that Loki had already adjusted his position to sit a little straighter, with his book now folded upon his lap, and meanwhile his hands had reached out towards Thor’s lap to take their daughter. Loki had been adamant about his space – his need for time alone and to remain involved in politics – but he _loved_ Fríða, and he would gladly soothe her whenever he was able to do so.

 

It seemed that their family and friends underestimated Loki; whether due to the difficulty of the birth and the desire that he rest at all costs, or to the belief that someone with his temperament would not be capable of bonding with a child, and so Loki found himself often separated from their child. There were even a few times – when Thor was called away from his husband’s side – that would find him returning to see his husband deprived of their daughter entirely. It seemed that when it was time to change or feed Fríða that Odin would call forth a servant, that when she cried Volstagg or Hogun would tend to her, and so far only Frigga would insist upon Loki caring for his daughter without interference. Thor would need to have words.

 

“I think that Loki would rather see to her,” said Thor.

 

Volstagg gently took Fríða from his arms and began to cradle her. It was true that she did begin to settle, for the larger man bounced her gently in a way that they had discovered she liked, but he did not hold her as Loki did. Thor had found the way that Loki would hold their daughter almost beautiful to behold, for he would hold her upright with her head pressed against his heart, where he would then nuzzle her hair and sing softly to her songs that reminded Thor of their youth. He was sure – in that moment – that his husband’s arms felt as empty as his.

 

“Loki is still on bed-rest,” replied Volstagg. “I would not trouble him so!”

 

“I am sure it would be no trouble at all,” said Fandral. “It has been a week since the birth and I have yet to see Loki hold his daughter! How is it that such a man, once considered too dangerous to be allowed to wander freely, can now be coddled and fretted upon, as if he were no longer capable of self-sufficiency? You spoil him, my friend! It will not help matters.”

 

“You know not what it means to be a parent! There is nothing more worrying than your first child, when you know not what you do and all you wish is for another parent to reassure you! Not to mention the rest that you crave and need! A little time alone apart is good for any parent, I can assure you.”

 

“Then why do I hear of how difficult it is the first time parent and child are parted?”

 

“Ah, because it is the most difficult thing in the world!”

 

“Do you hear how you contradict yourself?”

 

Fandral sat across the room beside Lady Sif. He rested one foot upon the table before him that filled the corner between the daybed and sofa, and his arm he lay upon the back of the sofa in a rather casual display. It seemed as if he were comfortable, decorated in non-formal wear and a lack of armour, but the expression he wore spoke of deep concern and a deeper fear. The war weighed heavily on everyone’s minds, that much was true, but his friends also worried for Loki’s well being.

 

He seemed to look at Volstagg for a long moment expectantly, whilst Sif sat rigidly beside him with perfect posture and hands clenched upon her knees. Hogun stood not too far from them both, as he appeared to gaze at the doors of the room to the guards, and Thor felt grateful to be surrounded by his friends. Their expressions appeared grave, however. It was difficult to celebrate in such a sombre time, enough so that the celebrations of Fríða’s birth had been postponed, but Volstagg seemed to be excited enough for everyone. He continued to bounce Fríða.

 

“There is a difference between ‘need’ and ‘want’,” said Volstagg. “What a parent needs is to bond with their child and love their child, but they also need time alone to find themselves and be themselves! It is more difficult than you think to be yourself when you live for another! Sadly, all we want is to smother ourselves in the lives of our children and never let them go . . . there is nothing more terrifying than to let your child out of your sight for the first time.”

 

“I know that fear all too well,” said Thor.

 

Thor smiled sadly as he thought of his son. It was a passing emotion, but it was enough to remind him of the feelings of his husband. Thor could not stand the idea of his husband suffering as he had done, longing to hold his child and to have that child forever out of reach, and as such he would need to take a stand on Loki’s behalf. They would not likely listen to Loki. He had heard enough how they strove to put Loki’s needs first, by telling him to rest or that they would tend to things, but that was not what Loki needed . . . what _Fríða_ needed . . . his family and friends meant well, but they fussed too much. Thor stood and addressed Volstagg directly.

 

“I imagine that Loki has felt it too keenly this past week,” Thor continued. “Forgive me, but I think it best that my husband spend time with our daughter. I think that my friends and family have seen much of Fríða this past week, for which I am truly thankful, but now it is time for Fríða to bond with her other father. I would not have this first week become a pattern. Loki and I are to raise Fríða, no one else.”

 

Volstagg laughed kindly and apologised. It was uncomfortable to have to chastise his friends, even if his intentions were meant well, and he felt a stab of guilt when he knew that they only wished to help. Thor reminded himself that there would be many times in the future when he would need to make such stands, for there would be no doubt many opinions issued on their parenting styles and Fríða’s needs. He tried to repress his discomfort and gently took his daughter into his arms.

 

He eased himself back into his chair and placed a soft kiss to Fríða’s forehead. Thor then leaned across to the daybed and placed his daughter in Loki’s waiting arms, where the look of relief upon his husband’s face spoke more about his feelings than any words ever could. Loki smiled brilliantly as Fríða stirred in his hands, he even laughed when she sneezed and lifted her hands as if in search of him, and when he lifted her to his breast he appeared more beautiful than Thor had ever seen him. It was a scene that Thor would always remember. Loki practically nuzzled their daughter as she was held upright against him, and when he looked to Thor his expression was one of utmost serenity. He looked at peace.  

 

“Thank you,” Loki whispered.

 

“You need not thank me when this is your right.”

 

“How adorable, you are to tell me now that I have rights?”

 

It was difficult to tell if his husband spoke in jest, but Loki’s eyes locked upon his with a rather serious and challenging expression. Volstagg merely laughed and took a seat opposite the daybed and rested his feet upon the table, whereas Fandral let out a low sigh and shook his head, and it seemed that – serious or not – his friends clearly viewed this as mere teasing on Loki’s part. Thor did not wish to assume so much. He knew that his husband was sensitive as of late, frightened even, and his ‘teasing’ was likely his subtle way of asking a serious question without exposing his true feelings.

 

“Well, it seems Loki is back to normal,” Fandral said.

 

“What of you, Thor?” Sif asked. “You seem to be taking well to fatherhood. It is most admirable, but I fear that you may be hiding behind your smile. It is impossible to replace one child with another . . . do you not grieve for T.J.?”

 

“Every day,” Thor admitted. “I love my son as much as I love my daughter. I look to Fríða and treasure every moment; I wake at night when she awakens, I feed her when she is hungry . . . I have seen her hundreds of expressions, I know what sensations she enjoys and dislikes, and all this I share with her! It only serves to make me realise _what I miss_ with T.J., for I am not there to share with him as I am with Fríða.”

 

“This war will end soon, Thor. You will be able to spend time with your son when we have defeated our foes, then you will know T.J. as well as you know Fríða. That is in the future, however, and so for now we must concentrate on the present. When do we leave for war? We must discuss this.”

 

“The Jotun emissary will come next week. A date will be set then.”

 

“How formal,” Fandral joked.

 

Thor would admit that such formalities were a recent event. There had been a time – not far in their history – when the first knowledge of an invasion would be the sight of invaders traipsing across a realm, and those very invaders had often been Thor’s ancestors and fellow men. The fact was that times had changed; they could not be seen to be aggressors and warmongers, not if they hoped to maintain peace between the realms and keep their influence amongst their peers. There would be a day for battle, but both sides would decide on that day.

 

He looked to Loki and saw that his husband had slid down the daybed to recline, with Fríða rested upon his chest so that she had fallen asleep listening to his heartbeat, and her large eyes flickered wildly behind those closed lids. Thor smiled as Loki’s breath caused her blonde locks to flutter, but he smiled more so when he saw how his husband had lifted his book to read as she slept. The hand that held the book kept it up at such an angle to hide their daughter from sight of their other three friends, whilst his left hand came around her buttocks and lower back to hold her in place, and the scene was so domestic – so peaceful – that Thor feared the day of battle. He did not wish to leave them, even for a moment.

 

“Need we talk of war?” Thor asked. “I would enjoy this precious time we have.”

 

“The war will come whether we speak of it or not,” replied Hogun.

 

“You may be right and I respect your opinion. It is simply that there are still so many immediate problems yet to be resolved, and these I must give equal weight to for as long as I am able. It is difficult to balance my duties, it seems.”

 

“You must learn to do so,” interrupted Loki. “You will one day become king, Thor! It is acceptable to worry for your daughter, indeed we must discuss how she is to be raised and what we are to instil in her, but not at the cost of our realm! If you struggle to put our people first, simply remember that the world _we_ make as its rulers will be the world that _we_ allow for her as fathers. Create an Asgard worthy of Fríða.”

 

“Do you think that an Asgard at war is an Asgard worthy?”

 

“If it paves the way for change . . . yes.”

 

Loki did not look away from his book. It seemed – from what little Thor could see – that it was written in an ancient language, perhaps one that belonged to the Jotun, and it was clear that his husband sought to learn all that he could of the politics at hand. Fríða stirred slightly, enough that Loki began to hum an unfamiliar tune and tapped out a gently beat upon her back, and soon she quietened considerably, enough that she seemed to doze once more to her parent’s fussing. Thor ran a hand over his face and rolled his shoulders in exhaustion. This was not a topic he wished to discuss.

 

“What changes would you see?” Thor asked.

 

“I would see us rule side-by-side,” replied Loki. “I would see us slowly reform our realm into something of a democracy, to give our people a voice. I would see Fríða rule _with_ her people and not _over_ them.”

 

“You would be careful where you voice such wishes, Loki. I have lost you twice before, once in death and once in prison, and I simply know that I cannot lose you again! I respect my father too much to question his rule or to seek to change it, not least when he is still our ruler and still holds power . . . there will come a time for reforms, but now is not that time. There are other changes I wish more to see.”

 

“What would they be, pray tell?”

 

Thor cast a cursory look to his friends, but they remained quiet out of respect. He knew that he could trust them to keep any words spoken private, especially when in a week the date of the battle would be announced, but he worried that his wishes would prove him not yet ready to assume the position of king. It felt as if his sole thoughts should have been about battle and politics, whereas instead Fríða consumed his every thought and filled his mind. She was all that mattered. 

 

Fríða looked so beautiful, so fragile and so precious, that Thor wanted to take her back into his arms and hold her until she awoke. He wanted her to grow up believing in her worth and knowing how perfect she was, for he did not wish to make the mistakes of his parents before him, and he did not wish for Fríða to grow up believing that the Jotuns – her very race, her very ancestors – were her enemy and something to be ashamed of. He wanted her to embrace her heritage and to be proud. He wanted her to stand as a beacon of change, in a way that Loki could not, and to unite both realms and bring peace to all. He wanted her to put an end their prejudices and to grow up without such prejudice. She was perfect.

 

“I wish to see a world in which Fríða need not hide,” Thor confessed.

   

“Your daughter is hardly hidden, Thor,” said Fandral. “Lady Sif spoke to your mother just this morning, and the celebrations that she has planned are enough to put your wedding to shame! All of Asgard will know the worth of Fríða Thorsdóttir. It is simply a matter of waiting for the war to end, so that it is safe to celebrate, and then Fríða will outshine us all.”

 

“In what form? There is great prejudice against the Jotun race! I understand that is to be expected when we are at war, but what after? There were many years between the war of my father and the war of today. Those years inspired nothing but prejudice and hatred, they taught us that the Jotun were monsters! It inspired me to insult Laufey in his very hall, it motivated Loki to try and destroy the people that bore him, and this – _this_ – is the world in which I am to raise Fríða? I wish for Fríða to walk freely in whatever form she should choose, without shame. That is what I wish!”

 

“You are naive, Thor,” said Loki.

 

Thor looked coldly to his husband. It seemed that they would need to talk at length about what they would teach to Fríða, for he did not wish for their daughter to inherit her father’s prejudices and self-hatred. He had seen Fríða – _she had been beautiful_ – and he would not have changed her, if the choice had been his to make, and a part of him wondered why his father had changed Loki’s form, whether his reasoning had been the same or similar to Loki’s. He wanted Fríða to inspire change and to believe in herself, but to do that she would have to _be_ herself.

 

“Loki is right,” Sif said.

 

“Loki is right? It is not a naïve thought! I know that we can prove the Jotun race to be like any other, with both good and bad, for their rulers do not speak for their people. We only need Loki to do great good, to be proud in his skin –”

 

“Thor,” interrupted Fandral, “you must give this thought. Loki cannot fight! The only way that Loki could prove his worth in such a way would be to bring the battle to Asgard, and who would be so foolish as to do such a thing? Loki is incapable of fighting and we cannot bring the fight to him, besides . . . would you truly force him to reveal his form in the battle’s wake? It would humiliate him!”

 

“It should not be humiliating! That is my point!”

 

“It should not be, but it is,” said Sif.

 

It was difficult to accept. Thor had never – in all his years – questioned the teachings of his father and realm, but he believed himself capable of growth and had seen much during his time on Earth, and from Jane and the Avengers he had learned much of tolerance and teamwork. They were concepts that he perhaps would have not given much thought in such times, but now that Fríða was born it seemed that such concepts now had great weight. They would affect her and define her.

 

Loki did not say a word, which surprised Thor when such matters concerned him greatly, but there was perhaps little reason for him to speak when Sif and Fandral defended his position in his stead. It seemed that Loki managed to balance his book in the hand that held Fríða; he even managed to somehow turn the pages one-handed, and his other hand raised itself to stroke lightly their daughter’s hair, so that she let out little murmurs of contentment with each gesture. He hated to see how Loki and Fríða were both forced to hide. He understood that his husband had internalised much hatred, that he would _choose_ to look as he did even if he had no need, but he did not wish for their daughter to be raised the same in turn. He wanted more for her.

 

He looked to Volstagg for support, but his older friend merely gave him a sad smile and stayed as silent as Loki. It was that moment that he realised himself to be outnumbered, for it seemed that neither his friends or his husband believed such a social change to be possible, but Thor remembered a time when the Avengers themselves looked an impossible feat. It was only when the Son of Coul had died that they had found purpose and motive, then it had only been a matter of time before they had made the impossible a possibility. Thor knew that could change their realm.

 

“It will change,” Thor insisted.

 

“Thor, you must listen to yourself!” Fandral continued. “You cannot end millennia of prejudice with a quick-fix or an easy victory! This will take time and consideration, but these things must come _after_ we secure a victory . . . until then, do you not think that we have more pressing concerns?”

 

“Tell me, what concerns do you refer?”

 

“The traitor in our midst.”

 

Fandral stood quickly. It seemed that this would not be a conversation that he could conduct sitting, for – like Thor – he was a man of action and would feel frustrated to merely sit when something else could be done. He began to pace the length of the table, between where Hogun stood and Volstagg sat, and occasionally he would send a silent and heartfelt look towards Thor, one that spoke of guilt and shame. It was clear that he did not wish to confess what he was about to say.

 

“I do not understand,” said Thor.

 

It was Sif that apparently made to explain, for Fandral could do nought but pace and no one else appeared willing to answer. Thor caught a smirk on Loki’s face as he used his hand to turn a page of his book, whilst his other rubbed patterns on Fríða’s back to soothe her and delay her inevitable cries of hunger, for it would not be long until it was time for her feeding. It seemed that everyone knew to what Fandral referred except Thor himself, and the fury that he could be kept in the dark about something of such import infuriated him. He was their prince and their friend; surely they owed it to him to be honest and forthright?

 

“There are those that distrust Loki,” Sif explained.

 

“Who are those that speak ill of my husband?” Thor asked. “He has earned his trust. I will not hear his name slandered! He willingly sacrificed his freedom to protect our child, not to mention that he has contributed more to strategy than anyone here!”

 

“I am afraid those virtues do not outweigh his perceived faults. Thor, you cannot deny – yourself neither, Loki – that his past reputations precedes him, as such it is difficult for those whose trust is low to accept that he has changed. Trust is instantly broken, but it takes _years_ to rebuild. There are suspicions, Thor; people say that he knew the dagger would be received badly and that he acted as the emissary before us.”

 

“Aye? How would he do this? He left for his room to meditate before we left for Jotunheim, I shall admit, but his labour was intense and the pain would not have allowed for such magic! Why would he also act in such an obvious manner? What fool would act as such when they would be so easily caught?”

 

“They say that he banked upon that. It is a double-bluff.”

 

“ _They_ seek to ruin my husband’s reputation.”

 

“Like a conspiracy?” Fandral asked.

 

Thor bit his tongue to remain silent. It was clear that he would likely sound mad to pursue such a claim, perhaps even blinded by love to Loki’s faults, but there could be no denying that Loki had many detractors. Loki was no fool; he was an intelligent man that always planned several steps ahead, as such he would not act in such an obvious way as to be caught so easily in a lie, and as such Thor knew better than to insult his husband by believing him capable of such an action. It was clear that Loki had no part in this, just as he would never have risked any action that may have torn him from his daughter. Loki loved Fríða too much.

 

“Yes,” said Thor, “if I must give it a name.”

 

Sif gave a heavy exhale of breath, but the cold look that she gave was not sent in his direction, rather she directed her gaze to Loki. It would have been enough to make Thor lash out, to demand respect from his friends, but he caught the way that her gaze softened just slightly and the manner in which his husband received it. They spoke to each other without words. It was impossible to know what Sif meant by such a look, less so what Loki made of it, but it seemed to mean a great deal.

 

It seemed that Loki agreed with whatever it was that she aimed his way, enough that he nodded an acknowledgement to her and put his book down upon his lap, an action that effectively eliminated the barrier between them. He carefully held onto Fríða and sat upright, at which point their daughter began to cry and Loki was forced to hum to her in reassurance, and as he did so he bounced her gently against his chest and placed soft kisses to her head. Thor nearly missed the look that was returned to Sif. The two seemed to argue merely with eye contact and facial movements, almost as if they debated which would be the first to speak to Thor.

 

“You sound more naïve than ever, Husband,” Loki said.

 

“Do you say that they are right?”

 

“A simple acknowledgement that their reasoning is sound is _not_ the same as an acknowledgement of my guilt,” snapped Loki. “I would be a _fool_ to deny that they do not have grounds for their suspicions, but – rather than spend time childishly _claiming_ my innocence – I would rather _prove_ my innocence. It is amazing what a difference communication can make. You would do well to remember that.”

 

Fríða seemed to quieten the moment that Loki spoke. It was as if the voice of her father were a comfort to her, enough that she seemed to lull into something akin to a sleep, although so close to her feeding time would likely make such a sleep impossible. Thor smiled as he saw her green eyes open every now and again, enough that he could almost fool himself into believing that she looked straight at him. Thor motioned to a guard to call forth a servant for her feeding.

 

“You need not prove yourself, Loki,” Thor said.

 

“On the contrary, Thor,” replied Fandral. “We are not saying that Loki _is_ our culprit, but simply that _some_ explanation must be given. Those that ask for answers are within their rights to do so and yet without answers there cannot be trust.”

 

“I treasure your opinions, truly I do, for you have been my friends and advisors for longer than any other in this realm. I can say that any words to express my gratitude would do my feelings an injustice. I simply cannot thank you enough, and yet . . . I have a loyalty to my husband that I cannot shake. It would be an insult to him to force him to explain his actions, not least when I know that he has had no part in this.”

 

“There is nothing that I could say, in any case,” said Loki.

 

“Husband?”

 

A servant came quickly into the room and handed Loki a bottle upon a tray, at which point Loki took the bottle and waved a hand, and the servant disappeared without even a glance spared in their direction. Fríða was hungry, it seemed. No sooner had Loki tested the bottle upon his wrist, gently pressing the teat to her lips, did she begin to drink much like one starved. She had inherited the Asgardian appetite and metabolism, which would be something of a blessing later in life when she would be required to eat socially and at formal feasts, and perhaps it would help her to build muscle mass and become a stronger warrior than the rest. 

 

“It has been said,” Loki said calmly, “that I knew the damage the dagger would cause, just as it has been said that I stole away to Jotunheim to breed dissent. I was too blinded with pain to project my person, just as I did not know the ill effects that the dagger would bring, but – of course – I would say these things, would I not? I will ask instead: what would I have to gain from such actions? What would it bring me?”

 

“That is the question that we all ask,” said Fandral sadly.

 

“Indeed, it _should_ be asked.”

 

Thor tried to ignore the tension in the air. It would have to be addressed, for either Loki was not to be trusted or there was a traitor in their midst, and either thought was enough to make every person in the room thrum with discontent and deep concern. The Jotun emissaries would arrive within the week to discuss the details of the battle to come, a battle that would likely be set before the month was even out, and it was possible that they would fight the enemy without before they found the enemy within.

 

He looked to his daughter and saw that she had stopped drinking for a brief moment, although her cheeks seemed to flush and her face contorted into a pout, and yet Loki waited – as he cradled her and held the bottle patiently to her lips – as if he knew that she would soon resume her meal. Thor smiled to himself. He had learned well the face that Fríða made as she made waste, especially so as Loki would – more often than not – hand her to Thor after a feeding to be winded, at which point their daughter would ‘coincidentally’ cry. He had not seen Loki change their daughter once yet, but he suspected that was entirely intentional.

 

“It is hard to believe that we shall battle in a matter of weeks,” he said sadly. “There was once a time when I would have been restless for such a fight, but now I only fear for what shall become of my daughter should I die in battle.”

 

“Then she will hear tales to put all other heroes to shame!” Volstagg replied.

 

“Her father is already a hero,” Loki muttered.

 

He smiled at Loki’s compliment. It was easy to hear the sincerity to the words from his tone of voice, but Loki’s expression gave little away. Loki kept his eyes upon Fríða and watched her as she drank, whilst the book by his side fell away between his leg and the back of the sofa, so that it almost appeared as if the book were a trivial thing and not an item that – with Loki’s mind – could turn the tide of the war. There was no one that understood politics better than his husband.

 

“Come, let us talk strategy,” said Thor. “Loki, you have studied much of this?”

 

“Indeed, let us hope that you can keep up . . .”

 

 

 


	27. Chapter 27

 

# Chapter Twenty-Seventeen

 

“Loki, you cannot be here.”

 

Thor sent a stern look to his husband. It seemed that the younger man had appeared in formal attire and partial armour, enough to make him look exactly like a prince that had every intention of entertaining a foreign emissary, and yet the fact that he had dressed for such a role worried Thor all the more. Loki had slicked back his long hair perfectly and wore a smirk that suited him beautifully, but it was that same smirk that was so worrying. He clearly had plans.

 

The pauldron he wore was engraved with designs of snakes and wolves, although it appeared new and untarnished to the eye. Thor considered it a sign that his husband had the sections of armour custom-made in order to receive their foreign guests, for it was clear that they had certainly never seen a day of battle, and his rerebraces appeared to hold the same design pattern. He appeared to have foregone his usual coat and wore a green cape in its place, one that virtually skirted the floor beneath him and would have been cumbersome in battle. There could be no denying how regal and handsome he looked. It would have been almost enviable, were it not for the fact that Loki had no right to be in the antechamber to the hall and could jeopardise everything.  

 

“We are at _war,_ Thor,” snapped Loki. “What would you rather have me do?”

 

“I would rather you be resting! You have not long given birth, Loki! You are well aware that the period of bed-rest is six weeks, but yet you would move freely and involve yourself in politics but _four_ weeks into your confinement. It is dangerous!”

 

“The period of confinement is too long. I know not how women here endure it! It has been – _by far_ – the most tedious and tiresome experience of my life, and I can only say that the women who would recommend it and adhere to it must have no minds of which to stimulate. I would not spend a moment longer locked in my rooms than need be! _Use me_ , Thor! I can talk to the emissary. I can help!”

 

“What of our daughter? Where is she as you linger here?”

 

“You would ask me such a question?”

 

Loki practically sneered at Thor. He raised a pale hand high and seemed to dismiss his husband with a simple gesture, before he turned his back and began to pace somewhat back and forth, and when he eventually stopped he sent a dangerous glare to Thor. They stood with merely a foot or so between them, with their eyes locked rather intently upon one another. It was clear that he had offended his husband, clearer still that Loki would not retaliate as he wished before witnesses, and so Thor waited expectantly for an answer. He _would_ have an answer.

 

“Never assume that I jest where Fríða is concerned,” Thor said.

 

The guards around them could be trusted to utmost secrecy, for not one would risk a flogging or even death should they reveal a secret about their masters, but the same could not be said about their fellow guests. There were only two men allowed into the hall to discuss the terms of war: Odin Allfather and the Jotun emissary. It had meant that Thor had been forced to wait within the antechamber, along with the emissary’s men that had accompanied him. He did not wish for them to hear his discussion.

 

He could see the three Jotun men had situated themselves at the far side of the antechamber, hidden almost out of sight as they seemed to discuss strategy and tactics, and Thor wished to know what they said to one another or thought of this heated discussion between his husband and self. One Jotun had sat astride a bench between two pillars, with a large scroll of parchment before him, meanwhile his two associates stood on either side of him and seemed to talk without much animation, and – as Thor watched them from the corner of his eye – he heard Loki hiss. He turned his attention back to his husband and frowned.

 

“You must jest,” Loki snapped, “if you assume I would put her at risk.”

 

“I know that you would never do anything to harm Fríða, but our daughter belongs in the arms in the one that bore her. There is no other man or woman alive that can care for her as you do. You belong by her side.”

 

“ _That_ is a discussion we _will_ have later. You need only know that Mother watches Fríða for us as I attend this meeting. I have fought long and hard for my right to raise my child as I see fit, without interference of those that think they know better, and – now that I am able to hold Fríða freely – I intend to never let her go. That does _not_ mean that my life’s meaning is now to nurse your children and to warm your bed! I will not act as others have! I will still be your tactician and comrade!”

 

“Lower your voice, Loki! We cannot appear weak before the Jotun messengers. The Allfather is in talks as we speak to discuss the terms of war and ask that they surrender. If no resolution can be found, the date of battle will be set. It may be that soon we will fight . . . should that happen, I must know that you are safe.”

 

“So long as there is a war then _no one_ is safe.”

 

Thor held back a wince at such words. It was true what his husband said, that war would put all lives at risk and potentially end in many a warrior’s death, but they could not avoid war any longer. The Jotuns had a right to seek justice and vengeance, for there had been a mass genocide of their people, and before such an event their sole energy source had been stolen too. They would no doubt hold the battle on Jotunheim or some desolate and lost realm, but many would suffer needlessly.

 

He cast a glance to the Jotun men across the antechamber and wondered perhaps what they felt, for it was possible that they had families as Thor did, that perhaps the loss of their lives would result in the grief of many. He knew that sentimentality was not for the battlefield, but he did not stand as a warrior. He stood as a future king. It would one day fall upon him to put the needs of his people first and foremost, to prevent war and yet to forever be prepared for it, and as such he knew that petty insults of ‘princess’ or the restless need for battle could not be indulged. Thor looked to Loki and saw in his husband a potential for peace. He saw an end to war.

 

It was Loki that saw the possibilities to their actions, that understood the politics innately and completely, and it was Loki who had the silver-tongue to talk any person into the best course of action. Thor knew that his husband had once not been ready for rule, and that in his envy and grief he had acted rashly, but he had changed vastly in the previous two years. Thor had faith in his husband and would gladly turn to him for advice and support. It was certainly true that Loki perhaps served better in diplomatic talks than he did within a nursery, but Thor worried for Fríða . . .

 

“You know that you cannot fight, Loki,” said Thor.

 

He turned to his husband and gave him a pleading look. It seemed that Loki’s expression softened slightly, especially so when Thor took a hold of his face with both hands and brought his head closer to the other, and it took Thor’s every ounce of self-restraint not to kiss Loki in that moment. He knew that the other disliked displays of public affection and a kiss would be inappropriate before their guests, yet a part of him wished to reassure Loki however he could.

 

“You may talk,” continued Thor, “but not fight.”

 

“I am aware,” Loki replied. “I would not join you in battle and risk both our lives, for our daughter needs at least one parent to guide her through life, and yet it infuriates me that I will not be beside you. It infuriates me that I am not _allowed_ to fight! I am not some fragile flower, Thor, I do not need to be hidden away!”

 

“Loki, you have just _birthed_ our daughter! You are lucky that a concession has been made for you to even participate in such talks and strategies, for – were it up to me – I would be adamant upon keeping your confinement. You admit that you do not wish to fight, even were you able, and so what reason have you to argue? I have fought without you in the past and I will do so now. You will not be near the battle.”

 

“I have no qualms about remaining in Asgard to protect our daughter. It seems that you do not understand, but I do not have time to explain . . . how long has your father been in talks with the emissary? What do we know?”

 

“They should be out at any moment now, Loki.”

 

“Not a moment too soon.”

 

Thor looked to the doors to the hall. He allowed his hands to drop from Loki and to fall by his side, where he then turned to face the hall directly. It was difficult to think about what words were being said behind closed doors, for such words would determine their entire future, but he held faith in his father’s ability to find a solution to every problem and seek diplomacy above all else. They would be fine, regardless of the inevitable outcome. He simply worried on his realm’s behalf.

 

He wondered whether they – and the Jotun men – would be invited to talk once the two men finished within the hall, but he had the feeling that all would be decided in their absence. They would only be invited to such talks as a formality on the following day, which was something that caused Thor to question why Loki had been allowed to leave his confinement at all, lest Odin Allfather sought to discuss strategy and warfare immediately upon a date being set. It was true that the current talks were set to end at any moment, but a part of him both feared to know the outcome and resented not being a part of the decision. This was his realm and these were his people, and – as such – this should have also been his decision.

 

“I believe I can hear them leaving,” said Loki.

 

Loki moved to stand beside Thor, whilst the three Jotun men stood and came to stand on level to the two Asgardian princes, albeit with some great distance between the two groups that signalled well their distrust. He noted that the Jotuns did not appear to ready themselves to bow or kneel, which was a question that he filed away to later ask his husband when alone. He wondered if Jotun custom varied from the Asgardian. He wondered whether it was normal not to lower oneself before one of higher-status.

 

The doors opened to reveal Odin and the Jotun emissary. Thor saw the way that Loki gave a subtle bow and bent his knee slightly, whilst Thor himself merely gave a lowering of his head and tried not to instantly demand answers, and the three men to their side seemed to nod in acknowledgement of their superior. There was a slight wince to Loki’s features that caused a spark of worry to strike him, for he wondered if to stand for so long would cause his husband damage in any way. He wanted to remind Loki that bed-rest was not something to be ashamed of, but he held his tongue before the Jotuns and merely kept his gaze straight ahead.

 

Odin stood in full ceremonial armour and attire, whilst he stood tall and looked every part of the regal king that he was, and Thor admired him greatly in those few moments as he waited to hear his king speak. It seemed that there was nothing to be said, for no words came. Odin merely turned to thank the Jotun emissary for his patience and attempts at peace, before he signalled to a guard to escort the four men to their rooms or to the Bifrost. The Jotuns chose the Bifrost and left at once.

 

“Father, I must know –”

 

“Silence, Thor, we will talk inside.”

 

Odin did not immediately enter the hall. He instead waited for the Jotun men to leave the antechamber, he even waited for the door to close with a hard echo, and it was only when several long seconds had passed – the three of them standing still in silence – that he finally permitted entry into the main hall. They followed him quickly as he entered inside, but neither man spoke until the doors had been closed behind them and their king had taken a seat upon his throne. The silence weighed heavy.

 

“Father, what news is there?”

 

“The date of the war has been set,” Odin said. “It has been planned for two weeks time, with the battlefield being upon the plains of Jotunheim. There we shall not risk the lives of civilians or persons uninvolved. The Jotun emissary has assured us that the war shall be confined to the battlefield, but we shall keep a small contingency of men upon Asgard in case of any untoward attack. We will be prepared.”

 

“Do you think the Jotuns so duplicitous as to act so unethically?” Loki asked.

 

“We cannot afford to assume that they are not.”

 

Thor looked to his husband. It hurt to hear that their king could not yet trust the Jotun people as a whole, but he understood well that they could not afford such luxuries as trust when the lives of their people were at stake. They needed to defend their realm as much as they sought to defeat their foe; such a defence would require that some of their best men remain, for if such a pre-emptive strike came against their people then they would need to protect them in the absence of their warriors.

 

It seemed that Loki was lost in thought, for he kept his gaze low and seemed to focus upon some unseen spot, and as he thought to himself there seemed to be an awkward silence that hung in the air. The words that Odin had spoke felt a slur upon Loki, as – Thor could not forget – the blood that his husband shared was the same blood as the men that they would soon fight, but he also wondered if they were not aimed at Loki in some subtle way. The truth was that his husband had secretly allowed Jotun into their realm to prevent Thor’s coronation, he had also later lied to Thor and tried to hurt him greatly, and then later seemingly sought to subjugate the Midgardian race, and so – quite rightly – there would be an element of distrust by the Allfather.

 

“We have them vastly outnumbered,” said Loki calmly.

 

Loki raised his gaze to meet the Allfather’s. They seemed to share an expression that was difficult to decipher, but a part of Thor thought that perhaps the two men understood the situation enough to not rely upon the spoken word. It was difficult to see how Odin could trust the advice of the one that had once betrayed their realm, just as he wondered how Loki could trust their king in turn or what he stood to gain from so obediently striving to help, and he instead listened carefully as they spoke.

 

“It is true that our numbers exceed theirs,” replied Odin, “but they have the advantage of a familiar terrain and a knowledge of the land. We need to spend the next fortnight in strategy and utilise our best warriors. Thor shall lead the battle into Jotunheim, whereas I shall remain here to defend our people should the need arise. There are many secret ways through the realms; it would be foolish to underestimate them.”

 

“A less confident man would suspect that you sought to cast aspersions upon his character,” Loki snapped. “There are indeed many ways between our realms, but there are none alive that know of such secrets to exploit. Those secrets will die with me.”

 

“Indeed they may, but they do not die yet. There is still a risk.”

 

“You mean that _I_ am a risk. I am no risk to Asgard!”

 

“You have _always_ been a risk to Asgard, Loki!”

 

Thor remained silent. There had been a time when the silence had belonged to Loki, who would not speak out of turn due to respect owed to their father, and it had been Thor that would lash out verbally and demand to be heard. It appeared that times had changed, for now he had learned that sometimes silence was the best strategy, and that to refrain from retaliation was not the same as cowardice or an admission of defeat, and it would only make matters worse to intervene during such a confrontation.

 

He trusted his husband completely; enough to know that Loki – as much as he often strove to make matters worse out of amusement alone – would wish to turn the situation to his advantage, and as such he would calm himself and rein in his anger. Thor had wondered in the past if Loki’s silence in such matters were due to the emotional blow that his father would often deal, whether that was due to the revelation that he had been ‘born to die’ or whether he had ‘always been a risk’. The two seemed to communicate badly. Loki would seemingly deal the greatest of disrespect, whereas Odin would confirm the other’s worst fears, and neither understood how easily such issues would be resolved were it not for pride.

 

Loki drew in a loud breath and stood tall before the seated king, before he sent a dark look to Thor that spoke of great frustration. It was likely that he felt humiliated to be spoken in such a way before his husband, or perhaps deeply hurt by the assumption that he had not been worth such a risk, and it was almost as if he sought for validation from Thor in some way. It was enough to force Thor into speaking, as he could allow such dissent in the face of battle.

 

“They would not trespass upon our realm,” said Thor.

 

“We cannot afford to assume so much. The truth of the matter is that there is much resentment between our two realms, due to past wars and many battles, and as such the Jotun people will require vengeance. Their king died by our hands and their people died en masse by our technology. We cannot escape the fact that they have great reason to seek war, greater reason still to win such a war, and that there are many that would seek to exploit this fact for their ends.”

 

“That is true, but Loki is not one of them! My husband has done naught but discuss strategy and act as a liaison between our two realms, and I do not think for a moment that he would allow the Jotun entry to our realm. You would imprison Loki for the duration of the war or revoke his magic, should you believe such things.”

 

“I have my suspicions,” Odin said, “but I would not risk Loki’s safety by denying him the right to movement or his magic in such a situation. The restriction upon his power of illusion should suffice for now. We need to discuss strategy.”

 

“Strategy?” Loki asked. “Let me fight. They will not expect it.”

 

“That, we cannot do.”

 

Odin allowed something of a sigh to escape his lips. He lowered his head and seemed to gather his thoughts for a moment, before he looked up to Loki and fixed him with a stern and cold gaze. The torches affixed to the columns cast a strange glow about the features of his father, whilst the heavy weight of the knowledge of battle remained with him as a constant reminder, and the fact that the Jotun emissary and his men had left meant that there was no chance for further talks. The battle was unavoidable.

 

“You are recovering from the birth of Fríða, Loki.”

 

“So I have been told,” Loki snapped. “I would also state that I am the best person to war with the Jotun. I am immune to their touch, I know their secrets and their tactics, and they will not expect me to battle during my recuperation and with my status. You should use me to your advantage. I have saved Thor’s life many a time, just as I have caused the death of many a foe, and I can lead men with confidence.”

 

“The state of your body is not my only concern. There is the fear that our men will not fully trust you, for you are the son of Laufey and you arguably hold a right to the throne of Jotunheim, and there is also the fact that – should you prove yourself innocent to recent transgressions – you may be of better use to us here.”

 

“Father,” said Thor, “you cannot mean to blame Loki for such acts!”

 

“I can and I do. Loki may wish for you to believe that the incident with the dagger was an innocent misunderstanding, and that the secret emissary from our realm was the projection of some other, but the truth appears clear to me. He seeks to draw attention away from himself and acts in this way for his self-interest, although the end to which still eludes me. You are blinded by love. You were warned of this from the start, Thor, but you chose to ignore me.

 

“It may be that Loki is indeed innocent, that there is someone who seeks to cast doubt on his character as you so claim, especially when no clear motive for such actions can be found, but without proof these assumptions remain baseless. If there is such a person, Loki will serve us best here where his magic can eliminate such pathways and lure out our culprit. If Loki is as dangerous as I suspect, the damage will be limited by denying him access to the battlefield and our men. This is not an easy issue to resolve. Loki shall be allowed to offer his advice, but ultimately the choice upon tactics and strategy is a choice only the Allfather can make. We have but two weeks to decide.”

 

Thor began to pace as he tried to calm himself. It was difficult to bear the insult against his husband, but he tried to remember that the insult was perhaps justified. There could be no denying that Loki’s actions had caused him to lose all trust, even as he strove to make amends and protect his people, but it hurt him to think that all of Loki’s attempts at redemption could come to nought. He moved slowly and purposefully, as if he walked towards a planned destination, whilst feeling lost. 

 

He stopped beside Loki and looked to his husband expectantly, as if the younger man could somehow provide an answer and solution to all of their problems. Thor rolled back his shoulders and stood tall. He knew better than to shout and insult his father, for it would bring no results and only cause suffering for all, but he was prepared to speak out and to disobey should the need arise. It seemed that Loki planned in his mind what words to say and how best to say them. He stood silent and returned Thor’s gaze with an oddly cold stare, before he then stepped forward and bowed his head to the Allfather with a polite gesture.

 

“I believe I may have an idea for our battle strategy,” said Loki.

 

Thor drew in breath and turned to directly face Loki. It angered him to see that his husband looked solely to their king, as if he did not value the opinion or attention of Thor at all, but he seemed focused and determined to speak his mind. Loki appeared as fixated upon the war as his father did, which meant that nothing else was able to penetrate his mind or steal his attention. The upcoming war was important, Thor could not deny, but the lack of trust in Loki – and Loki’s inability to look past the war – were also issues of great importance.

 

“Aye? What do you suggest, Husband?”

 

“It seems that my idea of holding the battle upon Jotunheim was well-received,” said Loki. “It will draw the violence away from our realm and further protect our people, whilst the perceived advantage may lure our foe into a false sense of security. Odin Allfather shall remain to protect our realm, should any attack occur upon our homeland, but I have faith that the battle shall be confined to Jotunheim.”

 

“You did not tell me that you had suggested the battle-ground,” said Thor coldly. “How long have you been in such talks? You are supposed to be recovering, Loki, yet I find that you have been secretly involved in such politics for I know not how long!”

 

“I will remain in such talks until the war reaches its end, too. Do not deny me my right to defend my home or to protect my people, simply because I had the misfortune of being forced into a political alliance! I love Fríða more than my very life, but that does not mean I shall watch as our realm falls to Jotunheim, simply because you would force me into a life of tradition and ignore my skills! I would suggest that you lead the battle into Jotunheim with Lady Sif and the Warriors Three, for your familiarity with the terrain and climate will prove of great use.”

 

“I assume that Father shall remain to lead battle here, should it commence?”

 

“Indeed, just as I shall remain to protect Fríða.”

 

It was an almost admirable declaration. Thor felt a sense of pride that his husband would put their daughter’s well-being before all else, but he could also hear the slight prickle of resentment in Loki’s tone, that – as well hid as it was – remained thick enough to taint his words and cause Thor to feel a spark of guilt. The mixture of emotion that Loki appeared to feel worried him, but what worried him more was the way that his father appeared oblivious to Loki’s conflict.

 

“The battle is not far away,” said Odin. “Will you be prepared?”

 

“I am Thor, Prince of Asgard,” answered Thor. “You need not worry. I was born ready for battle and I live for war; our foe will suffer for the slight that they have cast upon our people and our king, and I shall not rest until I have seen them defeated. There can be no doubt that we shall be victorious!”

 

“Loki, what of you? Are you prepared?”

  
Loki appeared serious and stern in that moment. He stood straight and raised his head high, so that he looked their king in his eyes and focussed entirely upon the matter at hand, and as he stood it seemed that he had regained something of the old Loki that Thor had known so well. It was worrying to think that Loki strove to be as he once was, for Thor did not wish for him to repeat the mistakes of the past, but he trusted his husband to make the right decisions. He trusted that if Loki acted this way then he did so for a reason, not simply as an act of regression.

 

“I am prepared to die for both Fríða and my realm,” Loki said. “I will prove myself in whatever way that I can, even if that means sacrificing my desire to fight to remain in the realm that has raised me. I will gladly stay by Fríða’s side and serve my king.”

 

“It seems that you must work more on your sincerity, Loki.”

 

“On the contrary, I am as sincere as can be.”

 

The smirk on Loki’s lips spoke more than any words could. It seemed that the Allfather had noticed Loki’s emotions at last, but he appeared to overlook it for the need to strategise was too great. The war was the only thing on the minds of both men, each one looking to the other with a serious gaze, and Thor could not help but wonder what his mother would think of such revelations. He admired her intelligence, enough that he wondered if she would have strategies of her own to contribute.

 

It was not that Thor wished for Loki to be silenced, nor to assume a more traditional role, but simply that he worried for his husband’s mental and physical well-being, especially in the beginnings of a war. He feared for the fact that so few appeared to trust Loki, even as the battle loomed on the horizon, and he disliked that Loki still appeared to keep his motivations and desires close to his heart, which only further fuelled the distrust that was held against him. He did not understand his husband and nor did he understand his father. They kept so much hidden from him; enough that he felt as if the only one he could trust was his self.

 

“I think it is time to discuss strategy in detail,” said Odin.

 

“Indeed,” replied Thor. “I would ask that Loki be excused, however. It is apparent that you have already discussed at length such topics with my husband, but I think it is now time for him to rest. The period of confinement is not yet over.”

 

“I think not. Loki is a brilliant tactician and his skills shall not be overlooked.”

 

“I do not mean to slight Loki’s skills . . .”

 

Odin gave Thor a stern gaze. It was true that Thor could not remember the last time that he had ever seen his father side with Loki over him, but he felt something of relief that the older man had seemingly found a quality enviable enough in the younger that was worth defending. Odin nodded in acknowledgement to Thor and then seemed to address both men as he spoke.

 

“Good,” said Odin. “In that case: let us talk.”

 

“Of course, Father.”


	28. Chapter 28

# Chapter Twenty-Eight

 

“Are our men in formation?”

 

Thor took a cautious step forward. It was difficult to endure such a difficult climate, for this was not a world that he was used to or built to survive, and as he looked around he saw only a hostile environment that was not meant for him. The very air seemed to seek to suffocate him, as his breath turned to mist and the moisture on his lips felt close to freezing point. He could not envision living in such a realm. It was enough to make a part of him pity those Jotun that lived there.

 

The snow underfoot crunched in a way that made him frown, as he knew well that it would make travel and camouflage difficult. It would be impossible to hide from their foes when their very movements were recorded upon the ice, although he knew that only their most cowardly of warriors would choose to hide or seek for a sneak-attack, and yet that realisation only made him value his husband more. Loki had never cared what others thought. He had always used his magic to their advantage and fought from a distance, where he had often brought great victory. Thor swore to himself to bear in mind Loki’s strategy and tactics: he would lead them to victory.

 

Sif stepped beside Thor and looked about the battlefield. The entire terrain was certainly a formidable one, with the flurry of snow doing little indeed to better their line of sight, and the entire expanse of land was rife with crevices and canyons that would be a danger should they become cornered. They needed to keep the advantage. The sky was almost black and obscured by the clouds, so that the darkness seemed almost a bad omen considering their position, whilst the silence – the lack of Jotun at all in their sights – was cause for concern.

 

“Our men are in perfect formation, Thor,” said Sif.

 

“I am relieved to hear it,” Thor replied. “It worries me, however, that our foe appears to hide from our line of sight. I suspect that they may plan for an ambush as Loki predicted. They wish to gain the upper hand by forcing an advantage.”

 

Thor looked to both sides to see the position of his men. They were placed perfectly in three sections, with Volstagg leading the left side and Hogun the right, and from behind him stepped Fandral. He knew that Fandral and Sif would help him to lead the main offensive, but ultimately the battle was in his hands. He drew in deep breath and tried to collect his thoughts. The Allfather himself, with his husband’s input, had ultimately decided upon the strategy, but should things not go according to plan – should something go wrong – it would be up to Thor to steer them into victory. He needed to keep a clear mind and remain calm.

 

“I do not trust their silence any more than you do,” said Fandral.

 

“It is only a matter of time before they attack,” Thor continued. “Keep an eye out, my friends. We cannot presume to know their minds nor their movements. It is important that we stick to our plans, but do not be afraid to deviate should the need arise.”

 

“I did not think that there would ever be a day when I would wish for Loki to fight alongside us, but here it is . . . we could do with his magic, even if it is not warrior-like, and I do not know anyone who knows more about the Jotun than he does. Still, we have fought without him before; I know that we can do so now! I just wish that these Jotun would appear sooner rather than later.”

 

Thor looked out across what appeared to be nothing more than a wasteland, and as he did so he could not help but wonder how anyone could survive in such a land. It appeared inhabitable. The thoughts of the Jotun people quickly faded when Sif pointed fast to the Jotun warriors on the horizon, where they stood barely visible and without any hint of movement, and when Thor allowed his gaze to wander their lines it seemed that they were waiting. They waited for Thor to make the first move.

 

“It appears that you would have your wish,” said Sif.

 

Fandral gave a heavy sigh and stepped back. Thor heard the distinct sound of metal as the other man withdrew his sword and assumed an aggressive stance, whilst meanwhile Sif moved back also and took upon herself a similar position. Their breath sounded loud to Thor’s hearing, but he had long learned to keep himself well-alert during battle and attuned to even the quietest of sounds, for the most silent of enemies were often the most deadly. He listened to them carefully.

 

It was difficult to concentrate on his men when the sight of the Jotun army ahead gave him such pause, for any moment now he would be forced to fight for the lives of his people and take the lives of his husband’s people, and he could not help but remember how Loki now titled himself ‘Loki of Jotunheim’. He could not hesitate, for they would not hesitate, but he felt reluctance nonetheless. They stood simply watching him, staring at his men, and he wondered if they thought of him as he did them, if perhaps they felt fear and shame and all those things that he did too. He felt the weight of Mjölnir in his hands and the weight of responsibility in his heart. 

 

Thor saw then that the enemy had lined themselves into a formation of their own, ready to attack at any moment. They would not wait too long for Thor to give the signal, for the bloodlust was in their veins as much as it had been instilled into the Asgardian people, and soon they would charge whether Thor and his men were ready or not. Thor let out a heavy breath and bounced Mjölnir in his hands with a weak smile, before he turned his head to speak over his shoulder. 

 

“It is time,” said Thor.

 

Thor raised his hammer high. It was the only signal that his men needed to attack, for at once there was an enormous roar and the sound of a charge of feet upon ice. There was the occasional noise of the horses, the commands of the superior men that issued forth almost violently towards the masses, and at the far end of the battlefield he could hear the war cries of the Jotun. They sounded almost tribal in their screams. Thor felt the heat of his men and sensed their excitement, and yet he felt apprehensive.

 

“Be prepared,” Thor warned.

 

The blows from their foe came sooner than he expected, but he had been prepared for such a quick offensive from his husband’s warnings. _Beware the Jotuns speed, Thor._ He quickly evaded the first few strikes and looked about the battlefield, for the need to know where his men were positioned and how the Jotun had struck was great, as their formation and placement was key in this battle. _Remember that they were born and bred in such a land, that they know how to move._ It appeared that their three groups had maintained their shape and positions, so that the Jotun – in their forward movement – were surrounded and at a disadvantage. _They will make use of the terrain to their advantage; beware of traps._

Thor dodged a strike to the head and realised that a Jotun before him was relentless, as if he strove not to give the young prince time to think, but already the wheels had begun to turn and he wondered if perhaps the terrain was being used against them. The Jotuns were surrounded, yes, but they only needed to push his men back – just slightly – in order to perhaps manipulate their movements backwards or to the side, and they would likely be in danger. He wondered what they had planned.

 

“Keep your positions,” Thor commanded. “Do not allow yourselves to be moved!”

 

“What have you noticed?” Sif called.

 

There was little time to answer as another Jotun kicked him to his knees, although the moment he fell he could not help but smile. They seemed to think that he was at a disadvantage, for the one before him had shaped a sword out of ice and raised it high, and in a matter of seconds it came down as if to slice through his neck and sever head from shoulders. It took less time than that for Thor to swing his hammer around in a wide circle, smashing his foes to the ground, before he rose to his feet and delivered the fatal blow to both men. Their deaths were instant.

 

“They mean to lure us into a trap! Be wary of the ice!”

 

It seemed that the blows came fast and furious with little break between the ones before, so that Thor was forced to constantly duck and dive to avoid a strike upon his person. The Jotun men moved fast. He had very little time to look around him, but it seemed that Fandral had already sustained a shoulder wound and that Sif struggled as five men came upon her at once, but he had faith in their abilities. They would win.

 

Thor wished that his husband was close by to distract their foe with his illusion skills, that perhaps his daggers could take out some foe from afar, but instead he made do by keeping to an offensive and pushing away the enemy before they could strike. There was little room to move, even less so to swing his hammer unhindered. He did not wish to strike his friends and comrades, not when they needed every warrior that they could against such a relentless enemy, but if he did not use a great attack soon then there would be great risk to their numbers. The Jotun were a formidable opponent and their numbers greater than anticipated.

 

He drew in a deep breath and then ran, leading the Jotun men away from Sif and Fandral. It seemed that the strongest of the Jotun sought for him as either a political prisoner or to execute him on sight, which of the two he was not sure, but he made sure to lead them away – to a patch of ice free from any of his people – and then turned on them with a dangerous gleam in his eyes. He began to swing his hammer around to gain speed and watched them as they circled him, at least ten or twenty men, and laughed as they surrounded him.

 

It was then that he saw a fire in the distance. He did not recognise it for what it was at first, for in a land of such ice and snow the sight of flames felt foreign and wrong in some way, but it was not long before Fandral came running not too far away from Thor, where he stood trying to stave off an attack of several men with just himself and a blunt sword. The wound on his shoulder did not appear to help.

 

“I did not lure our foe away to be followed!” Thor shouted.

 

Thor heard a sharp crack, but he did not have long to process the sound. It was alien to him, a sound that was also somehow familiar as if he had heard it long ago, and as he fought he saw the flames to the far left grow higher. That was the area where Volstagg fought. Those were Volstagg’s men. The flames seemed dangerously close to where a Jotun city lay, enough so that he worried for a moment that his men had ignored orders to exclude civilians from the battle, but the fire seemed controlled somewhat and purposely built. It was then that he saw Sif’s small figure by the fire.

 

“I know that, but they have sought to separate us!”

 

“I fail to see the problem!” Thor cried. “The more foes to defeat per warrior, surely?”

 

“Not when it is the _leaders_ they seek to separate! I know not where Hogun is, but he has not been in my line of sight since the battle begun! How can we lead the men when we are so far from them? We cannot lead!”

 

“And the fire? What of that?”

 

Thor swung his hammer around about him, so as to knock back an array of foe, but it seemed that several from behind leapt forward just as his arm was outstretched, so that they could attack before Thor could defend. He managed to sustain several deep cuts to his arms, but then forced them back and found firm ground. The moment that his left foot came behind him there followed a crack. It seemed that they had forced him onto a weak patch of ice . . . a patch that would not last long should the fight continue as it did, especially if heat were applied to it by the way of fire.

 

“The fire is under control!” Fandral shouted.

 

“I am sure that were Loki here he would argue otherwise,” snapped Thor. “I believe words like ‘structural integrity’ and ‘weaken’ would be used. Tell me, how _does_ one start a fire in a barren wasteland of ice and water?”

 

“ _That_ admirable skill belongs to Lady Sif! All I did was to fan the flames!”

 

“Those flames could kill us all: Jotun and Asgardians alike!”

 

“As could they! _Move, Thor_!”

 

Thor moved on instinct. It seemed that the icy sword of the Jotun behind him missed him by a mere inch, whilst the hand on the hilt touched him just briefly upon his arm, and under that touch bloomed a dark and painful burn. He glared hard at the injury, before he brought up his hammer and removed the offending limb that had strived to strike him from the Jotun attacker. A small part of him wondered if Loki would burn him in such a way were they to touch in his natural form . . .

 

The thought did not last long, as he soon realised that a vast number of other Jotun men had come forth to ambush Thor. It seemed that they had planned this from the start indeed, to force back the heir to the throne and corner him upon fragile ice, and no doubt they would use this to force his surrender or watch him fall to his death. He cricked his neck and rolled his shoulders with a smile. The words of his mother to stay calm remained in his mind, whilst his husband and father’s cold words of wisdom echoed about him. He remembered what had been said about the Jotun climate and environment, the caverns and the canyons, and with that – a dangerous smile on his lips – he raised his hammer high.

 

“Can you handle a little water, friend?” Thor asked.

 

“I believe so, why?”

 

Thor brought forth all the thunder he could. The moment that the hammer collided upon the ice it seemed all chaos broke loose, and at once everyone and everything fell in a devastating fall to the underground cavern beneath them. The thunder only spread to certain areas, allowing two blocks of ice to remain solid beneath Fandral and Thor, who only had to brace on impact with the ground. Thor noticed that the thunder and broken shards of ice had destroyed most of the Jotun, whilst Fandral and himself were spared with but a few bruises . . . the waterfall of water that followed was most unpleasant, however. It was cold to the point of freezing.

 

“This was not what I thought you had in mind,” Fandral snapped.

 

“It worked, did it not?” Thor replied. “Besides, I believe that most of the Jotun were killed in the fall. You can take out the few that survived alone, surely? I would much rather go after their leader. He will be felled by my hands.”

 

“You need not worry, Thor! Ten men or ten thousand, it is all the same to me! My only concern is how we are to get _out_ of these caverns . . . your skills were able to get us down here fine, but – at some point – we shall need to get back out. Still, I do like that you have left these Jotun fiends to me! I shall be happy to show them the true meaning of Asgardian justice!”

 

“It seems that they already cower, my friend! They are too afeared to attack!”

 

“They know my skill with a blade, it seems!”

 

The cavern was incredibly dark and cold, enough that Thor could barely see before him and the cold felt enough to pierce his armour. Fandral stood not far from him, both drenched wet and standing upon broken shards of ice, and yet the Jotun around them – those that lived amongst their dead – did not move to attack or even defend. They appeared nervous and afraid, as if the slightest movement in either direction would be a cause of great pain to all. It was then that Thor heard it.

 

“What is that noise?”

 

It seemed that the Jotun men knew what they did not. The few survivors, those not killed by the thunder or the shards of ice, turned at once and ran far along the corridors of the carven. Thor followed their movements with his eyes, but the deafening sound before him drowned out most thoughts of reason. It was a deep churning and grinding sound, much like the sound of a mortar and pestle that his husband and mother sometimes used for medicines, but the sound was magnified beyond endurance. It sounded like the walls were crumbling around them, which was intensified by the vibrations about the floor. Thor looked behind him curiously.

 

There could be no mistaking the beast in his vision, for it was much like the one that he had encountered only a few years ago. He did not look at it for too long, for it moved so quickly that even a few seconds wait could cost them their lives, and as it ran – large past all reason or comprehension – it smashed into the icy cavern walls and sent great lumps of rock tumbling to the ground. Thor and Fandral walked backwards nervously as it came towards them, before they shared a knowing look and then turned towards where the Jotun had ran.

 

“I vote that we follow our foe,” said Fandral.

 

“Agreed!”

 

The two did not wait to run. They moved as fast as they could, whilst they dodged the falling debris and shards of ice. The beast was quick on their heels, enough so that it even seemed at times to run upon the ceiling, and Thor felt his long locks of hair burst forward as the beast’s hot breath shot against his skin. Fandral tripped a couple of times and Thor felt a shard of ice fall upon his head, enough to cut the skin and cause his eye to sting painfully with blood. They kept their speed high.

 

Thor caught sight of the Jotun turning abruptly left, so quickly that he almost missed the sight of them as they head into a crevice so small that it could barely be seen, but he led Fandral into the crevice with an enviably speed. The beast ran by as they caught their breath. It was difficult to hear with the sound of his heart beating loudly within his ears, and his concentration was devastated by the rough and painful feeling of the cold air at the back of his throat. Eventually, the noise of the beast quietened down until its crashes and bangs were no more than soft echoes, and soon they stood straight from their half-bent positions. It seemed that – not far ahead – the Jotun men were running up a gentle incline in the ice wall, one that led to an opening above.

 

“There is our way out,” said Thor.

 

“They will be expecting us, Thor. They will try to ambush us.”

 

“Then we will leave ready for battle! We will fight!”

 

Thor ran ahead and led the way. It was difficult to get purchase on the ice wall, even though the slope was an acceptable gradient and the Jotun found no trouble, and Thor made a mental note to listen more to Heimdall and Loki in future. They needed footwear with a better purchase and a better understanding of this environment, but such concerns would be better saved for another day. The only concern they had was to climb out of the cavern and get back to the battle.

 

It took longer than it should, but eventually the two ran the incline and found themselves back upon the battlefield, albeit closer to the civilian city than they had anticipated. Thor wondered whether the caverns below held the majority of the people, if they lived down below out of the way of the harsh weather, but – even as he hoped that the common people would be okay – he saw the damage that the war had wrought. The majority of the Jotun army appeared dead before him, but the few warriors that remained were strong enough to give even their best men a challenge. The ice was stained with blood. The field lined with dead.

 

Thor raised his hammer casually to knock a Jotun off his feet, one that thought that he would easily be able to kill the young prince in his distraction, but even when distracted the prince knew how best to defend himself. He did not even look at the body as it fell to the floor. In the far distance he thought he could see Hogun, but it was difficult to distinguish his friend from the other warriors, and to one side he could see Sif. She saw them and ran towards them. There was a streak of blood down her arm and a slash upon her leg that made her limp.

 

“Thor!” Sif cried.

 

She stopped not far from him. It was difficult to look upon her and not feel a hint of guilt, for she was his dearest friend and no doubt she had suffered in their absence. He smiled regardless, because he knew – just as any proud Asgardian should be – that she likely felt great pride in having fought and killed so many foe alone, and she would no doubt have many stories to tell once the war was over. They had fled from a monster, but she had destroyed dozens of enemies. She was to be admired.

 

“Volstagg strives to take out the few remaining,” explained Sif. “There is still a large group up ahead that Hogun fights with his men. Nearly all the Jotun are dead, save for the few that fight against our friends.”

 

“I have no doubt that Volstagg and the rest of our men can take out the few remainders alone,” said Thor. “We must see to Hogun. It seems that they have him cornered and I would not have our friend fight alone. We will share in the glory with him, whilst our larger friend deals with the stragglers. This battle will be finished before sunup! Let us go!”

 

“We must move quickly. Do not dawdle, Fandral.”

 

“You know me not, if you think I would!”

 

Thor led the charge to the far side of the field. There was the incline of a hill that led to where Hogun and a few of his men fought, but the thick snow made the climb traitorous and fighting difficult. They only needed to destroy this small group of men to win, for there were very few others left alive to fight against them, and as Thor looked about him he estimated that it would take a mere few minutes to secure the victory and bring an end to the war. They would make Asgard proud.

 

They joined in the battle and fought alongside Hogun, defeating the weakest of men first so that they could argue over the rights to the strongest later, but after a few moments there seemed something strange. It seemed that no matter how many soldiers they fell that more would appear to replace them. Thor drew in a staggered breath and stopped in his fight to assess the situation, but soon so too did his three companions, and all stood in silence and stillness as the Jotun surrounded them. The Jotun did not attack, nor did they move to strike, but instead they simply circled them and trapped them . . . it was an ambush. The Jotun had tricked them.

 

“What is this?” Hogun asked.

 

The four stood with backs to one another in a circle of their own, each with their weapon raised and their stance prepared for an onslaught of attacks. The Jotun formed an impenetrable circle, with each one standing impossibly close to the one beside them, until they blocked what little light was available, and then – intentional and perhaps planned – the circle broke before Thor and out appeared a Jotun of great importance. This was the emissary that had spoken to them weeks before.

 

“Prince Thor of Jotunheim,” he said.

 

“I am he, but who is this that dares speak to me?”

 

“I am the emissary to our leader,” he continued. “That is all that you need know and all that you shall know. You have but one choice: surrender. We will spare your men and friends should you do so, but if you do not . . .”

 

“If I do not -?”

 

There was an awkward silence that followed. Thor half-expected for one of the men to grab one of his comrades, to try to hold them hostage or to threaten them with a weapon, but no such move came. There were no grand displays of power, no smiles or gloating laughs of the men, but simple silence. It was perhaps more intimidating than any atrocity that they could have committed. The emissary eventually stepped forward to distance himself from his men and appear more on level with Thor.

 

“We shall kill every survivor,” he said.

 

Thor laughed in the face of the emissary, as he swung Mjölnir high and let it fall over his shoulder in a casual hold. He could not believe that they thought such a measly troop – surrounded or not – could take out four Asgardians, and even if they could then they should have known that they would not surrender! They would rather die than dishonour their ancestors with such cowardice. Surrender was not an option.

 

He could feel the glimmer to his blue eyes as he eyed the emissary with a cocky grin, whilst he stepped forward himself and gestured wide with his right arm, almost as if the left did not hold the most feared weapon in all nine realms. The emissary did not back down or look away, but neither did Thor. It was almost a stalemate of wills. He could feel the tension build all around him, as well as the heavy expectations of his friends to fight their way out and destroy those that thought so lowly of an Asgardian prince. The battlefield practically shone with the blood of the Jotun dead, and yet they still assumed that they had the advantage! It was foolery!

 

“We will not surrender to you! We shall win!”

 

“Is that so? This is not the only ambush, Prince Thor.”

 

“I do not understand.”

 

He dropped Mjölnir to his side. The weight of his weapon reassured him that all would be well, for as long as he could fight then he could assure himself victory, but the arrogant smirk upon the emissary’s lips worried him. It was then that the Jotun men that circled him stepped back, as if they gave him room to breathe and think, or – more importantly – as if they did not think that he would run or fight. They expected him to admit defeat and give in to them. He did not know what advantage that they thought they had over him, but he loathed the look on the emissary’s face, and how the smile only seemed to grow as he saw Thor’s displeasure.

 

“We planned for _two_ ambushes,” said the emissary. “It was on the advice of the heir to our throne. It seemed that we were right to follow such words of wisdom. Let us say that there are _many_ secret pathways between the realms . . . we have used those pathways. We have ambushed _all_ your men. You may win the battle here, but what of the battle on Asgard? What of your husband and your daughter?”

 

“ _Fríða_.”

 

Thor swallowed hard and looked at the emissary. There was not a hint of jest upon his part, which meant that he spoke in all honesty. There was not one battle, but two, and the other battle currently was being waged upon Asgard where his family lay unaware and relied solely upon Odin’s private army and the guards. He was not there to protect Loki or Frigga or Fríða. He was not there to fight. He would have to rely solely upon his trust in their ability to fight, their ability to defend his daughter . . . 

 

“So,” said the emissary, “do we have your surrender?”

 

 

                       

 


	29. Chapter 29

# Chapter Twenty-Nine

****

“The Jotun have invaded Asgard.”

 

Loki felt his blood run cold at such words. It was true that he had expected such an offensive attack, for their enemy was severely outnumbered and needed whatever advantage they could find, but it was far different to _suspect_ than to _know_. The fact that the Jotun warriors were in their realm was a frightening revelation, for he knew for a fact that all suspicions would be upon him. No one else knew the pathways between realms as he did. No one else had let the Jotun in on previous occasions.

 

It was difficult to remain calm when his thoughts fell to Fríða, for – as much he worried about his freedom and safety – his daughter remained his absolute priority, and her safety meant more to him than any other. He could feel her warm against his breast, a constant reminder of what he stood to lose should anything go wrong, and he could not help but breathe deep her scent and bury his nose into her blond hair. She would occasionally try to grasp at his leather coat, but her grip was still weak and her attention easily distracted. He drew in a shuddered breath. There was the fear that the Jotun would kill her or take her, either in revenge or a desire to raise her as an heir.

 

He bounced her gently in his arms and looked around the hall. The Allfather stood in full war-armour centre of the hall, where the light from outside shone brightly upon the metallic breastplate and almost gave him a glow, and yet the dozens of guards that ran to-and-fro gave a worrying feel to the atmosphere of the room. They detracted from the elegance, but also added to the tension. Fríða began to stir in his arms, even as Loki cooed to her, and Odin gave a sigh.

 

“The guards are placed at every door,” said Odin coldly. “Heimdall stands firm at the Bifrost, but all entry and exit is forbidden. The Jotun have confined themselves to their point of entry outside of the palace walls, which should make the battle easier, but we must not fool ourselves into believing that they will not infiltrate the palace itself. They will strive to do as much damage as possible.”

 

The silence that followed was worrisome. It seemed that the only noise was the tread of racing feet upon the stone, the calls of warriors and guards alike from afar, as well as raised discussions held in panic and fury between their leaders and advisors. Odin seemed to be torn apart by conflicted emotions. He stood almost lost in thought as he appeared to consider strategy and tactics, but he also seemed restless and in need of battle, to prove to the Jotun that they would not be underestimated.

 

Frigga stepped away from Loki’s side, almost hidden in shadow from where she had stood, and moved to stand beside her husband. It seemed that she sought to comfort him or perhaps offer some steadfast advice, and her hand came to rest upon his bearded cheek for a brief moment, and as she stood by his side it caused Loki to feel a twinge of loneliness. He wondered who would be by Thor’s side. He did not wish for Thor to die in battle, for he did not wish to lose his only ally in this realm, and he also did not wish for Fríða to learn what it meant to be a ruler from Odin, for only Thor could teach her what it meant to be a true king. He could not lose Thor.

 

“We should call upon our reserve men,” said Frigga.

 

“There is no need,” replied Odin. “We have the Jotun at a disadvantage. I shall lead the main attack whilst some of our guards remain within these walls. They shall protect you all in my absence, which is all that I shall require. You must stay safe.”

 

“What would you suggest, Husband?”

 

Odin looked away. The guards had assumed a strict formation and waited at the doors to the hall, where Tyr stood to lead his men into battle, but they waited first for the command from their king. Frigga appeared serious and solemn, much like the grim expressions worn by their men, and as she looked to Odin it seemed that she looked to him for something more than simple reassurance, as if she sought from him a promise and an oath. It was clear that her hand fell upon his and held tight, but the firm grip was one to anchor her partner and not herself.

 

“I ask that you take Loki and Fríða to their private chambers; I would not have them put needlessly at risk by bringing them to the attention of our enemy. Loki currently does not have the power of illusion that you have, whilst Fríða is but a newborn babe, and so it would be best were they to be kept out of the fray. You will be safe together in their private quarters. I cannot worry about you and fight at once.”

 

Frigga held tighter onto Odin and moved her step slightly, so that the king was obscured mainly from view. It was slightly worrying, for it indicated a personal conversation that Frigga would rather no other be privy for, and in the midst of war – in the heat of battle – Loki had to wonder what it was that she felt could not be said without judgement by others. It was clear that she knew something they did not.

 

In Loki’s arms Fríða began to cry, but that was to be expected in such circumstances. It seemed that his daughter had grown vastly attached to Thor, so that his absence was quickly missed by her, and – not only that – but she was sensitive to noise and preferred quiet to loud sounds. Volstagg had joked that she was as social as Thor, but as introspective and intelligent as Loki, which was a fearsome combination in an adult and yet a troublesome quality in an infant. The noise of men shouting, of steel upon steel, and the running of soldiers was enough to disquiet his daughter, whilst the one person she needed for reassurance was far away. He knew not what to do.

 

“My king, it would be best were we to be armed.”

 

“Nonsense. You would only appear a threat were the Jotun to find you armed, and I would not put you in such danger. The guards will protect you. You know me not, if you think that I would let any harm come to you, my love.”

 

“It is _because_ I know you so well that I know the threat this battle brings. We must be given weaponry and be placed in a room that they will not expect, perhaps even our own quarters, Husband, far away from the place where our sons sleep. They will not think to look for us there, but if they do then Loki and I shall have weapons with which to fight. We are in danger regardless.”

 

“Then I shall station more guards to you. You will have only the best.”

 

“Of course, you are right . . .”

 

Loki raised an eyebrow at such words. It was a tone that he had learned well over the years, for it had been used against him as much as it had been used against Odin, but he had found – even when he had recognised it for what it was – that he still could not ignore it or go against it. The tone was one that Frigga used to placate and soothe, the tone that she would use to admit defeat or show acceptance, but such feelings were borne solely out of the need to keep peace. They hid the truth of her words. The kiss that those same lips placed upon Odin lacked equally in its sincerity, yet they lacked not in love or compassion. Loki looked away out of respect.

 

It was only when she pulled away that Odin looked to his son-in-law and granddaughter, before he smiled warmly and placed his hands lovingly upon his wife’s neck and shoulders, as if reluctant to say goodbye. The moment stretched into an eternity, before Tyr gave a sharp cough to draw attention to his men and the situation at hand. Odin’s smile fell. He straightened his posture and held his head high, before he turned to face his men.

 

“I must go,” said Odin. “You will go immediately to Loki’s quarters and remain within them for the duration of the battle. I have set only the best of men to guard you and there you shall remain safe. I will return to you all shortly, of this I swear.”

 

“Stay safe, my love.”

 

Odin smiled warmly to his wife, before he collected himself and drew himself away, and as he walked it seemed that Frigga stayed strong herself. The smile on her lips never faltered, even as her eyes narrowed and appeared dangerous behind that the veil of acceptance, and – despite everything – she appeared calm as she would any other day of the year. There was not a hair out of place, not a twitch to her expression, and her acting skills had clearly fooled even her most intimate companion.

 

Loki drew close to her, enough so that as she turned Fríða smiled and made a gurgled noise of contentment. It seemed that his daughter had grown used to the sound of her grandmother’s voice and the scent of her perfumes, so that Frigga’s very presence was enough to alleviate her restlessness, and Loki could not help but smile at the sight and relish in the love that he felt for both. He almost forgot about the battle, but the sound of Odin leaving the hall was a cacophony of sounds loud enough to force him back into the moment, and as many soldiers walked past them – following Odin’s troop – he felt forgotten and useless, unable to fight or to protest.

 

It was then that Frigga took a firm hold of Loki’s elbow. The touch was uncomfortable, for his arms were in an awkward position as he cradled his daughter against him, and yet she did not relinquish her hold in the slightest. She forced Loki to walk at a brusque pace beside her, as they walked in the opposite direction of the running soldiers, and soon she led the way through the corridors to the private rooms of the royal family. She was not content to simply walk, it seemed.

 

She did not break her gaze from ahead of her, which was perhaps why she did not attract attention for her blatant theft. The nearest guard that ran past them did so at a slower pace than the rest, enough so that she was able to simply reach out and remove his short-sword from its sheath, and yet she did not break her pace or slow her steps. She simply turned the sword and slid it beneath the sleeve of her top, whilst she twisted her hand so that the hilt was hidden between palm and leg. Loki smiled and tried to hide his laughter. He had forgotten how impressive his mother could be, just as he had forgotten where his husband had inherited his rebellious spirit and fearsome independence.

 

“Can I trust you to do as I say without question, Loki?”

 

Loki gave her a side-gaze and examined her closely. He was surprised to see that she returned his look and matched it with intensity, which caused him to chuckle to himself and turn his gaze ahead. They were soon in the hallway to the private quarters, but – even as she dropped her hold – he could not help but note how they walked immediately past the door to his rooms, and instead they headed towards the quarters of Frigga and Odin. She sought to disobey her king.

 

“You would be a fool, if you did trust me,” Loki said softly, “but I would be a fool to ignore your words. I swear to you – upon the life of Fríða – that I shall listen to you without argument. I trust that you have a plan in mind?”

 

“My son, I always have a plan in mind.”

 

The door to her quarters opened onto a large living-area, but one far larger than Loki’s own and one that put the rest of the palace to shame. It brought back some vague memories from his childhood, ones of him sitting on his mother’s lap as she read to him from old tomes, and he could remember Thor escaping into his father’s dressing room to steal helmets and capes, as he pretended to be ‘King of Asgard’. It was strange to think that the room had barely changed in a thousand years.

 

Frigga quickly closed the door and then strode across the room. There was – to the right side – an open wall lined with columns, which provided a view down below to a battle that thankfully seemed one-sided, whilst the centre of the room held an indented circular section that held the seating area. Loki hushed Fríða as she gurgled to herself, and watched as Frigga pulled back a large tapestry from the furthest wall. Frigga signalled him to move over to her. It took a few moments to move across the room, for the sheer size of it made it difficult to traverse quickly, but it was made even more awkward by the way that Fríða began to struggle against him and whine. It was clear that she was tired. Loki hoped that she would sleep soon.

 

“We will hide Fríða here,” said Frigga.

 

Loki was surprised by what he saw. It seemed that – hidden behind the tapestry – there was a large room, one that he had never known about in all his time spent playing and studying in these quarters, and the sheer size of it was quite impressive. There was a bed in the top right corner, whilst two cots sat in the left corner, and Loki could not help but wonder if this had once been his nursery, if he had once shared this space with Thor when they were but children.

 

He followed Frigga inside the room, but the moment the tapestry fell they were cast into complete darkness. Frigga raised her hand and at once dozens of candles sprang to life, each one giving a beautiful glow, and suddenly he could see once more. There was a faint scent of perfume in the air, whilst the warmth of the room was just enough to lull one into a sleep without causing discomfort, and soon Fríða had succumbed and slept within his arms, her mouth slightly open so that some saliva ran down her chin as she dreamt. Loki frowned as he thought of her resemblance to Thor in that moment, but the way she smiled to herself was enough to make him smile in turn. It would be torture to let her go, even for a moment.

 

Frigga came to Loki and reached out for her granddaughter. It was almost frightening, for he knew what she intended to do, but he trusted her – he had sworn to obey her – and so he let her slide his daughter into her arms. He felt empty without Fríða. He could not help but give his mother a pleading look, even as she smiled and cradled his daughter so loving, and when she placed her in the cot – after swaddling her and kissing her – he felt compelled to run to her side and remove her. It took all of his self-control to still his racing heart and breathe normally.

 

“Will she be safe here?”

 

Frigga moved her hand once more, but the candles remained lit and instead it appeared that the cot had vanished. The other cot, the bed, even the ornamentation and furniture all remained but Fríða was gone. He felt a momentary panic, but his mother walked quickly to him and led him out behind the tapestry, whereby she cast a second illusion to make the room vanish from view, so that only a large wall appeared behind the tapestry and nothing else remained. The room had gone.

 

“Perfectly, my son,” said Frigga. “There is an illusion cast around Fríða’s cot, just as there is an illusion cast upon the wall. It is time for her sleep, so she should be quiet and no one should look within these rooms. She will be fine, I assure you.”

 

“What of us? They will know that I not be parted from my child! They will suspect that Fríða lies somewhere hidden within these rooms, they will search and ransack your quarters until they find her, and they will not stop! I do not want to leave Fríða, but I wonder if it would be safer for me to leave. If I stay . . . if they find me here . . .”

 

“Then you shall go.”

 

Loki looked to his mother with eyes wide in fear. He had not been separated from Fríða since her birth, at least not without knowing of her safety and that she was not left unattended. Thor would awaken during the nights to tend to her, whilst servants would take her away to be changed when he or Odin commanded so, and the rest of the time she would be within his arms or by his side. He could not leave her unsupervised. She was his sole reason for living. She was his only hope.

 

Frigga seemed to be indifferent to his plight, but he knew that to not be the case. She cared, she cared almost as deeply as she did, but she also realised that they had no other choice but to leave Fríða were they to save her. She took Loki by his arm and led him back to the doors to the room, but before she opened the doors she turned her son to face her completely, enough so that Loki felt almost intimidated by her actions. The expression upon her face was serious, more so than he could remember seeing in a very long time, and he could not miss the hint of fear upon her expression, just as he could not miss the terror in his heart at leaving his daughter unsupervised. She took him by his hands and held them tightly to her chest.

 

“Do you trust me, Loki?”

 

It took him a moment to answer. He could feel the heat from her hands, enough to warm him and reassure him, but his paternal instincts screamed to him that this was a bad idea and not to leave Fríða. Loki reminded himself that this invasion had been expected, that he had no right to surprise or fear, but he had underestimated how he would feel towards his daughter and the strength of his need to protect her. He would need to fight the Jotun, too, lest they believe the worst of him.

 

“I do.”

 

“I have a plan, my son. It is true that you cannot cast any spells of illusion, but you do not need to cast those spells to benefit from them. I will grant you a new appearance, one that will keep you safe and allow you to fight should you need, and this will hopefully save your life and prevent the Jotun from focussing upon you. They likely search for Loki Laufeyson and Fríða Thorsdóttir, but you shall instead be a soldier like any other. You shall evade their search.

 

“I will hide you. My magic will not fade until I have met my death or until I release my spell. You will be hidden until the end of the battle, just as Fríða shall be hidden from the sight of others, and you two will be protected, and once all is over I shall release you from the illusion and grant you back your true appearance. We will separate once the spell is cast . . . they shall hopefully follow myself and thus I shall provide a distraction. It is not ideal, for I understand that you do not wish to leave Fríða alone, but it must be done Loki! The Jotun will find you without the illusion, just as they will find Fríða if we are to stay with her. It is a risk we must take. Come, let me cast the spell, then let us away.”

 

“Where are we to go? Where shall we meet?”

 

“We shall not meet.”

 

Frigga raised her hands and cast the illusion. It was only a matter of seconds before Loki looked down to see that he wore the uniform of the guards, as well as the skin of one much darker, and he had no doubt that his face would be as foreign as the rest of his body and form. It would stay true this illusion, unless something occurred to break the spell, but in a way that was his reassurance. He would know Fríða to be safe for as long as he wore the face of another. She would be safe.

 

“You shall head towards Odin Allfather,” said Frigga. “Try to stay away from the battle proper, keep to the back lines, but do not be afraid to defend yourself. I shall make my way towards the gardens and try to lead them away from here.”

 

“Mother, I –”

 

“Hush, there are no time for words. Go, Loki.”

 

She opened the doors and pushed Loki through. It was only a second later that she followed, whilst she looked both ways and made sure that they were not being watched or followed, and – at that point – she pushed the hilt of the short-sword into Loki’s hands. He took it and gave brief pause as to what she would use to defend herself, but he knew that she could easily steal another weapon. He paused and opened his mouth to speak, but instead she merely pushed him back and pointed to the far end of the corridor. She was desperate for him to flee.

 

“ _Go, Loki!_ You must go!”

 

“Thank you.”

 

Loki paused briefly to look upon her. It was a relief to know that – despite everything – he had not lost the faith and love of his mother, but more so to know that she also cared enough for his child to make such sacrifices. He realised now just how deep her love ran, for it was the same love that he felt for his daughter, and he could not help but reach out and place a kiss to her cheek in thanks for all that she had done, before he turned away. He felt grateful that Fríða had such a strong role model in her life.

 

He made to leave, but something told him to look back. He needed to tell her one last time just what she meant to him, how thankful he was for her support, but as he reached out – as he turned with hands outreached for hers – he found that she had already fled. He saw her skirts dance across the floor as she moved, swift and yet ever graceful, and already she was far out of his reach. The only thing he could do was to smile and to follow her orders. It was vital to gain the trust of the Allfather and to protect his daughter, and both of those things required his survival and to be far away from his mother’s rooms, and so he fled too. He ran obediently from the rooms.

 

The corridors seemed to extend far longer than he remembered, enough so that he wondered if time had stood still in some way, but he moved with a speed that even the fastest of their men would envy. It was difficult to remain calm. He feared that Thor had been killed, which perhaps accounted for how and why an attack on Asgard had been allowed and occurred, but a part of him knew the truth . . . this attack had been planned regardless of Thor’s victory or defeat. He had to believe in the best. He had to believe that Thor was alive, because to believe otherwise was to admit defeat himself.

 

It was then that the Jotun appeared before him. There were three men, although two were clearly foot soldiers and would be easily defeated. The other man was clearly a leader, however, and as such he appeared powerful and strong, a man that would take some time to defeat were he to engage him directly and one that may not be fooled by magic. The three men stopped. The leader gazed darkly at Loki, almost as if he saw past his disguise and knew his illusion for what it was.

 

This would not do. Loki could not risk being drawn into battle, for his realm needed him and his daughter could not grow up without him in her life, and so he would not risk dying when he could easily live. He thought quickly, but he knew that he could use this Jotun’s knowledge of magic to his advantage. They would suspect him to be on their side, especially with all he knew and all he had done, and as such he could manipulate them into fleeing to some other place. They would be far away from his mother and daughter – both who would live and remain unharmed – and he could always send their men after them when he ran into the guards later. He smiled and turned to the leader. It seemed simple bad advice would do.

 

“I would take the stairs to the left,” said Loki.

 

“Your power of illusion precedes you,” said the Jotun. “Tell me, Loki Laufeyson, why should we take the left staircase? Our ruler says that you have allowed us entry into this realm, what do we have to gain from obeying you?”

 

“The queen’s life. She has fled that way. Go, be quick.”

 

“We shall. We will.”

 

They walked away quickly, evidently believing Loki’s words and trusting – to an extent – his position as their ally. He felt a huge surge of relief, for his mother would be protected from such men and they would be led away also from his daughter, and as he heard their feet upon the stone steps he allowed himself to smile. It felt foolish for them to trust him, simply as he held the blood of their king and was the true heir to their throne, for he owed no loyalty to Jotunheim, but they had trusted him regardless, a fact that had worked to his advantage.

 

Loki rolled his eyes as he heard sounds of battle from upstairs, where no doubt the Jotun men had encountered a contingent of their guards. The sounds that followed were quite violent, enough so that clearly whoever was there had clearly put up a strong fight, and Loki found himself pausing for a brief moment. He could kill the Jotun men if they survived and prove a hero to his realm, just as he could leave should his men win and deny all knowledge of what he had said to the Jotun men. He turned to ready himself to leave, as it sounded as if a Jotun had become injured, but only moments after did he hear a woman’s voice . . . a woman’s scream . . . no, it could not be her. It could not be Frigga. Why would she lie about her movements?

 

It was then that he felt her spell break. He looked down to see his pale hands, along with his usual black-and-green attire, and suddenly he knew that the illusion had faded and he stood as the Prince of Jotunheim, Loki Laufeyson. He felt his heart beat rapidly as he looked towards the staircase where he had sent the Jotun men, but even as he looked he knew it was too late. The magic had broken, so too had its wielder.

 

“ _Mother_ ,” he gasped. “No!”

 

He could not bring himself to believe that she was dead, but the fact of the matter was that she would not have released her spell under any circumstances. Loki felt his mouth run dry and his body felt faint. He knew that he had to go to her, for it was possible that she had been forced to relinquish her spell or was merely hurt, but he knew in his heart that the worst had occurred . . . he knew not why she had not headed for the gardens as she claimed, but perhaps she was forced elsewhere.

 

Loki ran as fast as he could. He passed several guards that seemed surprised to see him outside of his chambers, but he ignored them as he ran directly to the staircase and headed to the left as he had directed the Jotun men. It did not take him as long as he had thought to reach the corridor at the top, nor did it take him long to see a door swinging at the far end of the hallway, as if someone had not long entered or exited. He paused for a moment, as he wondered if the Jotun still lingered, but he did not pause for long. He walked forward, unsure of himself, but determined to see to her.

 

“Mother?”

 

Loki entered the room slowly. He was uncertain as to who would be inside, if there would remain a threat to him and a foe to vanquish, but he also knew that he could do nothing but enter. Frigga was his mother. She was accomplished in the magic that she knew, enough so that she was his teacher throughout his studies, and he knew – for a fact – that her powers of illusion would not fail unless she broke the spell herself. The only exception would be her death . . .

 

There were no other people in the room. It was empty; the door to the opposite end of the room still swung from where it had just been used, and in the air hung the smell of blood . . . it was metallic and impossible to miss. Loki looked around for his mother, but he found himself almost wishing that he could not find her, that he _would not_ find her, for if she had been taken as hostage then she would at least be guaranteed safety, but it seemed that the gods did not favour him. He saw her foot from behind a lavish sofa, so that it drew him closer. He then saw her body, with its deathly pale skin and the pool of blood beneath her chest. He knew that she was dead.

 

He fell to his knees. It seemed that she had been stabbed just beneath her breastplate, right into a vital organ, and then left there without anyone to hold the wound closed or to give her time to heal. She would have died almost instantly . . . alone. The blood that seeped through his clothing to his knees was warm, almost hot, and when he reached to touch her cheek he could feel how cold she was, as if all the warmth that had gone into her heart had been let out upon her death. He struggled to breathe.

 

It was then that he saw the knife that had felled her . . .

 

The knife had been thrown down upon her corpse, so that its blade had torn into her dress and drew blood from the skin beneath. Those that had killed her had not cared for her dignity or for the value of the weapon, or perhaps they had cared greatly and wished to leave a message for the one that would find her, and as Loki looked – the blade red and angry-looking – he saw that the dagger was familiar indeed. The hilt was golden, the pattern ceremonial and formal, and even the pattern upon the blade was one that he knew all too well. This was the dagger given to Thor. This was the dagger meant as a peace offering. He had provided the weapon that killed his mother.

 

Loki stood shakily to his feet and drew in deep breath, but the tears pricked at his eyes regardless and the guilt consumed him. He may as well have driven the blade between her ribs himself, for the dagger used in his games had been the one to kill her, and such a message from the Jotun men was clearly meant for him. They wanted him to know. _It is your fault that she is dead; you have killed her_. He could feel his magic escape him without his consent, so that it exploded about him in his rage. The furniture of the room upturned and smashed. It was destroyed.

 

“I am sorry,” he whispered. “I am so sorry.”

 

He turned and looked towards the doors that the men had left from, and he remembered well how those doors would lead back down to the fray, into the heat of battle, and he could only assume that they had come to do what they had sought to do. They had made their point: no one in the house of Odin was safe. He strode towards the doors without expression, only the anger in his eyes indicating the depths of his emotion, and as he walked he knew that he would fight. He would avenge her.

 

She would be avenged.


	30. Chapter 30

# Chapter Thirty

****

“Well, this is certainly unexpected.”

 

Fandral swung his sword loosely by his side. It seemed to be something between a nervous gesture and an anxious need to attack, as if he could not still the hand that knew not what to do and yet somehow strove to avenge their slight. The movement sent all wafts of air against Thor’s leg, whilst the action caused the blade of the sword to brush against him, and he was reminded of his friends’ conflicted emotions. They wanted to fight, but they also waited on his command to do so.

 

It was difficult to give such a command. Thor fell deep in thought for a long moment, as he cast his eyes down upon the ice beneath his feet. He tightened his grip upon Mjölnir, enough so that the leather squeaked beneath his hold, and bounced his weapon slightly to get a feel for its weight. The truth was that he knew Mjölnir so well that it served as an extension of him, but such a reminder of its presence also served as a vital reassurance to Thor. It reminded him that he was worthy. Thor Odinson was a man that had earned the right to such power, just as he had proved himself capable to lead such men, and he knew that he could make the right choice.

 

The cold ice could barely be felt anymore, not through the coursing adrenaline and sweat from battle, and yet he would be a liar to deny the sharp sense of coldness within his breast. He had hoped that these men would surrender and escape death, for – when he looked to their blue skin – he found that they reminded him of his daughter, for she had shared her complexion with them upon birth. These were the people of his husband and daughter. These were men with families of their own. These were the men that he would need to kill.

 

“What do we do now?” Fandral asked.

 

Thor raised his eyes to judge their situation. The Jotun towered around them in a circular formation, which cornered them and blocked all light and sight of the rest of the battlefield, and the leader of their little group stood before Thor expectantly. They could easily take out this small group of men, but that would mean that there would be no one to call off the ambush in Asgard. He did not trust this Jotun to keep his word, in any case. Loki would remain at risk whatever they did.

 

He did not need to turn to his men to know what they would think, for he had fought beside them for longer than he dare admit. They were his friends and comrades. Lady Sif and the Warriors Three were not merely his men, nor were they objects to be used as living weapons; no, they were more than that, for these were friends so close to his heart that they were family to him and their opinions meant more than any other Asgardian. They may have known their place and kept silent at times, but he trusted them to speak their minds when it mattered, and he trusted their judgement implicitly. He would have remained bound to Midgard were it not for them.

 

“Do you not hear me?” Fandral continued. “What do we do?”

 

There was no chance of surrender. It could not guarantee Loki and Fríða’s safety, but it _would_ guarantee the dishonour of his men and of Asgard. Thor would also not disrespect his family in such a manner, because he knew – without a shadow of doubt – that his father could lead their remaining soldiers into a glorious battle and protect their realm, just as he knew that Loki had skill enough to protect their daughter. Thor would finish what they started. They would fight. They would win.

 

“We must fight,” said Hogun.

 

“What of Asgard?” Sif asked in turn. “It would be foolish to dismiss their claims. We must consider the lives of Prince Loki and Princess Fríða! We cannot make our choice so flippantly, it is something that we must give thought!”

 

“They will not cease their ambush on Asgard. The offer leads to our humiliation.”

 

“Hogun is right,” said Thor. “Surrender is not an option.”

 

“So we fight?”

 

Thor locked eyes with the emissary. The Jotun man wore a dangerous smile upon his lips that reminded Thor somewhat of his husband, enough so that he pondered to himself whether such a smile was a Jotun trait or perhaps a family trait, and – if so – whether this man had been given his position due to his relation to royalty. The emissary continued with his smile, but his red eyes seemed narrowed and dark, as if he resented the position that he were in and pitied Thor’s choice.

 

The air felt cold, enough so that the sight of his breath momentarily distracted Thor. It lingered like a small cloud before him, like a scar upon the otherwise fresh air, and with it he could smell the coppery and metallic scent of blood. They had all sustained injuries, whilst the rest of his men and Volstagg struggled to find and contain the stragglers and cowards of the Jotun army, and Thor was certain that – the moment that they chose to fight – it would just be the four of them against this circle of men. He did a quick count in his head and looked around. There was no doubt that they could win this, but they would need to keep the emissary alive for political reasons.

 

“We fight,” said Thor.

 

It was then that the emissary let out a bitter laugh, as if he knew something that Thor did not and judged him for his ignorance. Thor refused to second-guess himself, for he was a warrior first and foremost, and to choose anything other than battle would be to humiliate his men and cast a dishonour on his line for generations to come, but a part of him could not help but worry about Loki and Fríða. He loved Loki, but he knew that he could and would fight . . . he had to believe that.

 

He tried not to let the question of how the ambush had occurred plague him, for his greatest fear was that Loki had some part in this in a foolish attempt to manipulate events to his advantage, to perhaps prove himself in battle and win the trust of the Allfather. It was equally as possible that someone sought to cast suspicion upon his husband, that there was a traitor in their midst that wanted Loki to suffer, and if that were the case then Loki would be in great danger . . . he would be exactly where that person would want him and would be easily framed. It was a problem that would have to be solved later. There could be no knowing whom the perpetrator was, but Thor would fight to protect Loki regardless of whether he was guilty or innocent.

 

It was then that the emissary stepped back and away from Thor. He turned his back to the prince and seemed to merge into the circular line, as if he did not view the Asgardians as a threat in the least, and his contempt and arrogance was enough to make Thor’s knuckles turn white as he tightened his grip upon the handle. It was the first rule any warrior was taught: never turn your back on an enemy. Did Thor no longer count as a threat? It was an insult above all else!

 

“You have made a foolish choice,” said the emissary.

 

The Jotun man gave a long and low sigh, before he raised his hand and gave a silent signal to his men. It seemed that their enemy raised their weapons at the exact moment that Thor and his men did, so that each faced one another poised for battle, and he knew in that moment that all those involved would be willing to risk their lives for their rulers and realms. This would be a fight to the death.

 

“Attack,” the emissary commanded.

 

Thor had barely a moment to think. The Jotun men were upon him and the others almost at once, so that he was forced to act entirely upon instinct, and at once he was pushing away others from his form as he watched the emissary disappear from sight. He tried to keep him in his vision, but the bodies of the Jotun men periodically blocked the diplomat from his eye-line and proved an obstacle. It seemed that the more he strove to look that the smaller the other man became.

 

He felt a cold burn upon his arm and screamed out loudly, his pain mostly borne out of anger and frustration rather than the physical damage to his arm, and as he pulled away he swung down his hammer upon the head of his foe. The sound bone breaking was almost as sickening as the sight of the blood itself, but it was a sight and sound familiar to Thor in all his years of war. He drew his hand back with little thought and moved onto the next man that tried to do him harm. It seemed as though his body was struck with cuts, bruises and burns aplenty . . . he would likely return to his husband covered in his blood and the blood of his foe, and he could only hope that it would not disgust Loki. He fought as bravely as he could.

 

There was a brief flash of red, enough that he could see Fandral had been injured severely, but his friend fought on and would likely fight until he could fight no longer. The injury was severe, but not life-threatening, and so he would be fine once the battle was over and Hogun had chance to apply the healing stones, and yet Thor knew that the injury would be made worse should the fighting continue for too long. Sif cried out from behind him. Hogun seemed to take down two Jotun at once. It was only a matter of time before their foe was completely vanquished.

 

The numbers of the Jotun soon died down. There were several strong warriors left, but those posed little threat and it seemed that Hogun and Fandral were confidently destroying those enemies with little difficulty. Sif was cornered not too far away, herself against three Jotun of considerable strength, but she seemed to enjoy her private battle and fought like a warrior should. Thor stood alone and without foe.

 

It was then that he saw the emissary. He appeared somewhat down the incline, out of the battle that occurred around his men at the top, and suddenly Thor felt an intense rush of anger and disgust. The coward dared not stand near the battle! He looked around to see the battle – as a whole – was over, with most of the Jotun dead and the majority his army merely walking about to count the dead or tend to their wounds, whilst the rest of his men celebrated loudly on some far corner of the field. Sif, Hogun and Fandral had nearly won against their personal foes, whilst Volstagg – across the field – seemed to count their prisoners and began to march to their side.

 

Thor saw the emissary turn to flee . . .

 

“Do not run!” Thor called.

 

He began a slow march down the slope to the emissary. It was difficult to look anywhere other than the face of the Jotun, because there was a part of Thor that suspected this weak man would run should the chance present itself. He quickened his pace and swung his hammer lazily to intimidate the man before him, the same man that looked both ways as if seeking to estimate the best way to escape, and as Thor stopped not far in front of him it seemed that he finally accepted his predicament. The emissary knew that he had lost this battle.

 

“I will not spare your life should you run,” Thor snapped.

 

“It seems that you have won this battle,” said the emissary. “What will you do with my surviving men? Shall you sentence our soldiers to an eternity in your dungeons, or shall you show lenience and allow them to return to their families?”

 

“You have no right to speak of mercy! You have ambushed my realm!”

 

“It was _your_ husband that allowed us entry.”

 

Thor felt his blood run cold. He stepped closer and raised his hammer, so that the eyes of the emissary skirted the top of Mjölnir and her battle-worn edge. The scent of blood upon his weapon was strong, enough so that the emissary appeared to pale as he caught the odour of his dead men upon its surface, and in the darkness the blood appeared almost black in the snowy night. The threat was clear: lies will cost your life. He would give the emissary the chance to retract his words.

  
He did not wish to hear such filthy words from the mouth of his enemy, especially when such slander regarded the one person that he had always loved and had learned to love unlike any other. It was a painful slight. He knew, however, that the insult was made heavier by the weight of truth that hung upon it, for he knew that Loki – as much as he put his realm first above all else – was likely indeed to act in such a foolish way. It was something that he would have to discuss with Loki in person, because to utter such suspicions aloud would be to doom his husband to the dungeons, and he knew that – whether Loki held a part in this or not – he had acted only with the best intentions of their realm and daughter. He would not have put his people at risk.

 

“You lie,” said Thor.

 

“Do I? Tell me, Prince Thor, do you truly wish to speak of this where your men may hear? My words – if lies – will mean nothing to them or to you, but if you suspect that I speak the truth then perhaps this conversation may be best left alone.”

 

Thor lowered Mjölnir. It now pointed lazily upon the emissary’s chest, so that it hung over the quickly beating heart of the other man. The Jotun man raised both hands in a universal gesture of surrender, whilst the smirk upon his lips made it clear that he believed that he had the upper hand and had dealt a connecting blow, but as much as Thor wished to believe it was a lie – that this was merely a final attempt to hurt him – he could see in those red eyes a sincerity and truth. 

 

It took all his strength to refrain from hurting the emissary, but as the Warrior Three and Lady Sif came towards him it seemed that he had little other choice than to restrain his anger. He did not wish for questions to be raised. It was no secret that his friends had always had conflicting feelings about Loki, but those feelings had become almost entirely negative after his actions on Midgard, and it had taken a long time indeed for even the slightest of trust to be restored. They still did not trust him fully, nor did Fandral or Sif appear to enjoy his company, but – all in all – things were vastly improving. He would not sacrifice Loki’s progress with dark suspicions, not least when such thoughts had no evidence to prove them correct.

 

He saw his friends stand about him to show their support. The battle had been won and now there was nothing else to do aside from count the dead, tend to wounds and carouse in celebration. The few surviving Jotun would be dealt with as necessary, whilst the terms of their defeat would be formed with words and papers for all the realms to see. This should have been a time to celebrate their achievements, but Thor could only feel a strong sense of grief. He looked to his friends and found his strength. Thor gave a weak smile and rolled his shoulders, as he sought to appear confident.

 

“Those men that have ambushed Asgard will be arrested,” said Thor.

 

“What of the soldiers uninvolved with that attack?” the emissary asked. “I ask that those men not involved be absolved of their sins, for they acted only according to orders and fought simply in the battle here as any soldier should. They are innocent.”

 

“They shall be spared once the terms of your defeat have been wrought.”

 

“You would negotiate such terms now?”

 

Thor clenched his hand tightly upon the handle of his hammer. The air was piercingly cold around him, enough that it reminded him well of the place he stood and the duties he held, and yet he could not help but to look up at the black sky above and to think back to Asgard. There they fought and he had no way to know how well they fought, just as he could not be sure that _this_ battle had been but a diversion. He wondered how intense the fighting was and whether Fríða was safe from the fray.

 

“I have faith in my father and his men,” said Thor.

 

It was certainly true, for – despite his father’s faults – he knew the older man to be a magnificent warrior and that he had won many wars in past. Odin knew how to strategise as well as to fight, just as he had prepared a small contingent of men in case of such an attack, although Thor strove hard to repress the knowledge that they had only prepared such men on Loki’s advice. He lowered his hammer and stared hard at the emissary, for if such a man could believe that Odin Borson could be defeated – even with a surprise attack – then he was foolish indeed. They had already won.

 

“They have specific orders,” said the emissary. “They are to retrieve the heirs to our throne, but to kill all others that may stand in their way. It means that your very family are most at risk. Tell me, would you stand here with me to negotiate the terms of my defeat and formalise my surrender, or shall you return to your realm and protect those closest to you? Ah, or perhaps the blood of a Jotun is not worth defending?”

 

Thor raised Mjölnir at once and stepped forward. The harsh side of his weapon pushed against the Jotun’s breast and forced him back; the first push knocked him slightly off his balance, but the second push knocked him onto the floor completely. It seemed that the emissary finally expressed fear, for he lay on the snow with eyes wide as he looked up to Thor, and yet Thor could find no sympathy. He wished to strike that prone body with a mortal blow. He wished to kill such a man.

 

There could be no greater insult than the claim that his daughter and husband were not worth defending, least of all for the blood that they held. He had once been a man that would have killed the Jotun race out of prejudice, perhaps he would have still been that man if Loki had not sabotaged his ceremony, but he was not that man any longer. Loki and Fríða meant more to him than all nine realms, enough that he would sacrifice everything for them and to be by their sides, but he also knew that – as a future king – he could not foolishly cast aside the lives of his people out of a sentimental need to see to his family. He trusted Loki’s strength, just as much as he knew that things in Jotunheim must be tended in order for him to return.

 

Sif stood beside him and lowered her sword, enough so that the edge of its blade came to rest against the neck of the Jotun. The man glared darkly at her, but this only caused her to press harder and to draw blood, at which point he looked back to Thor and seemed to beg silently for leniency. Thor let his weapon fall to his side. The Warriors Three behind him came forward, so that they circled the emissary and surrounded him. They would not let him flee nor fight; this man was their captive. He would also pay dearly when he would eventually be brought to Asgard to face justice.

 

“Hogun, Fandral and Volstagg,” said Thor kindly. “I would ask of you, my closest friends, to stay here in my place and finalise our victory. I must return to Asgard at once and make certain of the safety of those that remain . . .”

 

“We would be honoured,” said Hogun.

 

Thor gave a weak smile and stepped back. Hogun had great skills at diplomacy, enough that Thor was certain that all would be achieved fairly and acceptably in his absence, whilst the brute strength of Volstagg and Fandral would keep the stragglers and prisoners in check. He wished partly that he could remain, perhaps participate in the inevitable celebrations, but he thought too much upon his husband and daughter. He needed to be certain that they were safe. He needed to return.

 

“Sif, I ask that you return with me. I could use your skills.”

 

“I will gladly fight beside you, Thor.”

 

Sif sheathed her blade, just as Fandral withdrew his to keep the emissary in place. It was only a brief second before she joined him at his side; he felt a comfort from her presence, as he was reminded that he held his friends’ unconditional support, but a part of him feared what they would think should it be that Loki was indeed untrustworthy. He wondered whether he would lie to them. He wondered if he would be forced to choose between friendship and love. Loki had much to answer.

 

It was easy to remember in his husband’s love for their daughter, even if it was difficult to believe in his husband’s innocence. Thor held faith that Fríða would be safe, free from harm just so long as Loki held breath, and yet a part of him feared what he would find on his return to Asgard. He looked to Sif and saw in her their victory. She appeared just as a warrior should, with bloodied limbs and an expression that threatened to break into a smile, and it was clear that she had felled her foes and wished to celebrate their success. Did she not fear as Thor did? Thor felt guilt for his doubts, but he also knew that his husband’s signature all too well . . .

 

“Let us go. I must see to Fríða.”

 

* * *

 

Loki saw Odin in battle . . .

 

The older man fought valiantly. It was clear in many ways how Thor’s fighting style mirrored his father’s, for even in the slightest of movements and mannerisms the two men appeared to double one another. Odin would occasionally roar out with emotion as his sword struck, whilst he kept a close eye on the battlefield and those around him, and he seemed to constantly dart between strategy and slaughter. He was a man capable of leading whilst he also acted as a warrior. He led by example.

 

No one yet knew of Frigga’s death. The few guards within the palace chased down the lingering Jotun that broken through the defences, whilst the majority outside fought with great valour against the large crowd of Jotun men. There were many more than Loki had expected, at least double – if not triple – than what he had been told, but he knew that their army and guards could easily win such a battle, especially with Odin Allfather at the forefront. It was simply a matter of fighting by the other’s side, of doing his share and assuming his responsibility . . . of finding those responsible for his mother’s death and making them suffer. They would not survive this battle.

 

“Loki! What is it that you do here?”

 

He blinked away tears to look to his king. There – stretched before him like an ocean wide – was the battle spread out before the palace, with the guards and soldiers pushing back the Jotun down the stone steps. The noise of steel upon steel, of cries piled upon cries, was almost barbaric and deafening to endure, but Loki had been in many battles during his years and could at least recognise from those sounds that the advantage was theirs. He let his eyes seek out those that had killed his mother, but he could not see them in the fray. He could only hope that they were not yet dead.

 

“Loki, you put yourself in danger by being here.”

 

“I am in search of someone,” Loki said absently. “I seek for them here.”

 

Odin walked towards Loki where he stood upon the landing, with the palace doors open before him as guards ran about in desperation to join the fray, and Loki realised then that where he stood brought all attention to him. He was alone on the landing, neither a part of the battle or away from it, and yet he had not even considered his disadvantage as he stood overlooking the fighting below. It seemed that Frigga consumed his thoughts. He looked only for her killer, but a part of him knew that if he sought for vengeance that he only needed to turn the blade upon himself. It had been his fault that she died. He had led the Jotun to her.

 

It was then that his thoughts were broken by Odin’s full appearance, as he stood in full armour and drenched in the blood of his foe. Loki drew in deep breath and allowed it to leave his lungs with a hiss, before he looked up to his king and gave a dark smile, although he genuinely sought to give a smile that seemed a lot more sincere. Frigga stayed in his mind. He wanted nothing but vengeance. It impaired his thinking somewhat, but not enough to know what the news would do to Odin. It would destroy the king; he would not stop until every drop of Jotun blood was spilled.

 

He had to believe that Thor had won – or would soon win – the battle in Jotunheim, for that would end the war and prevent any more bloodshed that would stem from his father-in-law’s wrath. The few Jotun here would be killed, but that was to be expected by invaders in breach of all rules and ethics, and yet all Loki wished was to save the ones that had killed his mother for his hand, so that he could destroy them as they had destroyed her. He had not yet time to grieve . . . it caused him to dwell upon his mournful feelings. The war was all but won, but with Frigga dead it seemed as though their realm had lost everything. Loki had lost.

 

“Who is it that you seek?” Odin asked. He gave a weak smile and stepped forward as if uncertain in himself. “I will admit to some relief . . . your rooms were the first to fall under attack, and so it seems that my wife and queen proved right in her belief to lead you elsewhere. Tell me, Loki, why have you left the confines of wherever she stowed you? The battle wages on and you put yourself at risk by standing where you could be caught, unless – that is – something is wrong.”

 

Odin moved so that he was only a few feet away from Loki. There was a clear paleness to his features, coldness to his working eye, and he seemed to draw in a deep breath as if to puff his self up. He knew the truth. It seemed that he recognised it deep within his heart; there was the king’s deep sense of intuition, borne out of a need to read people and situations, whilst the father in him could interpret every aspect of his son-in-law’s body language and expressions. It was only his mind that denied the obvious. He looked to Loki for confirmation for what he knew.

 

“Where is my queen?” Odin said severely. “Where is Frigga?”

 

Loki looked away, unable to bear the weight of the other man’s eye. It felt as if the battle had fallen silent, as if the fighting had ceased and the war had ended, but he knew this was not the case. It was then that he caught a familiar sight across the heads of the warring men, where he saw the figure of the Jotun leader that had escaped from him so easily, and the man that had likely killed – or had allowed the killing of – his mother. The man had done what he had set out to do. He had now joined in the battle.

 

It was enough to cause Loki to clench his hand tightly around the hilt of the sword, enough that he felt a sharp pain in his skin and moisture on his palm that may have been blood, but he continued to look at the man that had murdered his mother. The thoughts of revenge filled his mind, enough so that it seemed Odin could see the rage and disgust upon his face. The king drew in breath and followed Loki’s gaze. It appeared that he saw the Jotun man clear as day, including the way that he fought bravely and with great skill, enough that he had even managed to kill one of their best men. He may have fought well, but he would lose when faced with the wrath of the King of Asgard and Prince of Jotunheim. He would pay.

 

“Your silence, Loki, speaks more than words.”

 

“You would have me say those words aloud? You would have me give weight and truth to what I still wish to believe a lie? You know as well as I that I would not stand here – _in this form_ – were she alive to protect me . . . nor would I leave her were there any life left to protect. I wish to grieve. I wish to hide. I cannot do either whilst there remains a chance for vengeance. _I will have the head of the one that killed her_!”

 

“No, Loki,” said Odin coldly. “That honour shall lie with her husband and her king. You may prove yourself the Asgardian that you claim and fight your way to that honour, but – whilst I would not deny you the kill – I shall not give it to you freely.”

 

“I will fight my way, indeed. I would avenge my mother.”

 

“Aye, just as I would avenge my wife.”

 

Odin turned back to face the fray. It was clear that whichever man reached the Jotun first would be the one to lay claim to his life; Odin was a powerful warrior, one that would likely kill his way to that leader in no time at all, and so Loki would be forced to fight with all that he had to reach the man whose life proved such an offence. He understood Thor’s lust for battle, for suddenly this competition with Odin proved a vital distraction from grief and gave a way for him to exact revenge on the Jotun. Loki did not wish to fight, but he would do so to avenge his mother.

 

“Fight, Loki,” said Odin. “Make her proud.”

 

Odin let out an enraged scream and turned to the battle. There was a flush to his face and a venom to his gaze, enough so that he seemed to be nothing like the man that Loki once knew, and Loki could not help but wonder whether this shock – this horror and helplessness – was what Thor had seen in him. He had seen Loki so unlike himself in grief, as he lay broken and bleeding in his cell, and what had he felt on seeing him so?

 

It was as if everything Loki had known had been ripped from him, so that this man – his king and father-in-law – was a stranger to him. He could not remember seeing this level of pain in the older man, but he could understand it completely, enough so that it drove him to the same path, and the need to act – to hurt those that had hurt him – was consuming to the point that nothing else mattered to him. He had failed Frigga. It was his duty as a son to do right by her, just as Odin strove to, and he would not be able to face his husband should he not do his part in battle. His hands shook, but his eyes did not leave the face of the Jotun. Loki did not notice the drops of blood that fell from his hand as he clenched his short-sword. He simply moved forward. He had to.

 

“His life is mine,” he said.

 

 

 


	31. Chapter 31

# Chapter Thirty-One

 

“I do not see them!”

 

Sif sounded almost panicked to his ears. It was subtle, nothing that any of their men would have ever detected, but Thor – after years of fighting by her side – could sense the rise to her tone and the quaver upon the final note. She fought against the Jotun bravely, with such skill that these men had barely left a fresh scratch upon her, and yet she was clearly distracted. She sought for Loki and for Odin, but she could clearly find neither with her gaze.

 

The bridge was now far behind them, whilst the few of their men that had travelled with them protected it and patrolled it for any stray Jotun. Thor and Sif had raged forward to gain access to the palace, to protect the royal family and defeat those Jotun involved in the ambush, but their access to the palace was prevented nonetheless. Sif stood before the palace and looked out over the crowds. He could see the way her eyes darted back and forth in desperation, but despite her distraction it seemed that her instincts proved strong. She struck men that were not even in her peripheral vision, she blocked attacks that she could not see coming, and she evaded blows that would have crippled a lesser warrior. Still, she looked. She searched.

 

Thor did not know how long this battle had been in progress, but there were Jotun bodies cast about the stones under his feet. He could feel his boots stick to the ground with drying blood, whilst each time he stepped forward or back he would find himself stumbling upon the body or limb of a dead man, and every so often he would recognise the shine of Asgardian armour upon the ground . . . the armour of the dead. It was hard to see behind the throng of battling men, for they stood thick before him and crowded together to an impossible depth. The battle was intense.

 

“They must be within the palace,” said Thor.

 

“What of the Allfather? He must surely lead this battle.”

 

That much was certainly true. Thor looked about, but he could see no more clearly than it seemed that Sif was able. The sound of embittered screams poisoned the air, enough that the battle was almost deafening and would make communication difficult, and the sound of metal squealing on the air was all to familiar. This would have been an almost fun exercise in any other situation, but somewhere within those walls lay his family, and he would not rest until he was sure of his daughter’s safety.

 

It seemed that his men had kept the battle out of the palace proper, with a semi-circle of their best men lined around the steps of the palace, where they pushed and fought to keep the Jotun away. There was a massive surge of strength from the Jotun as they strove to break the ranks of Asgardian men, but their men – even when forced higher on the steps – were always able to keep the advantage. The Jotun were not able to get their men further than midway, before they would be pushed back and more of their foe would be killed, and it seemed that the battle would not last for much longer should this continue. They still lost numbers of their men, however. They still risked the attack entering the palace and thus there was danger to Loki, Fríða and Frigga. Thor would have to put an end to this sooner than later.

 

“Our king must fight towards the front,” said Thor.

 

“My thoughts exactly.” Sif swung her sword to decapitate a foe. “It is likely that Loki remains within the palace with the queen and princess. Our king likely leads this fray.

We must make our way to the palace steps, Thor!”

 

“Then let us move to the side.”

 

Sif cast him a dark look. It was then that she raised her sword to its side, but high enough that its blade was on level with her eye-line. There could be no faulting her stance, for she stood with legs apart and arms poised for attack, and yet her aggressive body language made it clear that she longed for battle. Sif wanted to kill. She wanted to swing that sword to make their enemy pay and earn her way to the front, and then she would tell tales in victory of the numbers that had perished at the end of her blade.

 

“Why not charge through?”

 

“I have learned enough from Loki,” replied Thor. “The strongest Jotun appear to have formed a line at the front, whereas most battle violently towards the centre, but the sides of the battle are least defended. We may be tempted to fight for pleasure, but we must make sure of Fríða’s safety. The quickest way to this will be from the sidelines.”

 

“We will attract more attention should we run along the sides. We must move quickly and aim for the killing-blow should we be attacked. You stay ahead, Thor, and I shall follow behind to defeat those that may do you harm.”

 

“Then we are decided.”

 

Thor looked to Sif and gave a weak smile. It was tempting, indeed, to simply press forward and make a game out of counting those killed. He wanted to show off his strength and compete against his friend, just as she would instinctively seek to prove herself and defend her realm in the way she had been taught, but they both knew that this battle was but a distraction from the greater issue. Frigga and Fríða needed to be protected and guarded, whilst Loki had only half of his powers and strength. 

 

They paused for a moment, so that each friend simply looked to one another as they prepared themselves mentally and physically for what was to come, and then Sif gave the signal and they moved. Thor led the way ahead and fought his way to the side, past the columns and stray fights, and then began the slow ascent towards the steps to the palace. It seemed that blows came from everywhere. The Jotun were intent on killing their men and seizing control, which meant that bodies of both armies fell before him and the scent of blood filled the air. Thor seemed to attract attention from a small contingent of Jotun men, just when the steps of the palace were only a few feet from him, and at once they descended upon him and strove to do him harm. He fought as best as he was able. It seemed Sif had a problem of her own to contend.

 

Sif fought wildly as a group of Jotun ambushed her, which prevented her from going to Thor’s side in battle, but her strength was enough that she could keep them at bay and hold her own against them. Thor was almost distracted by the sight of blood, as a gash appeared upon her leg, but the strike of a sword by his side was enough to draw his attention back to the matter at hand. He fought with all that he had. The Jotun did not take long to be destroyed, but the fight had drawn the focus of others like them, and if Thor stayed in place then he would be drawn into the overall battle.

 

The steps were not too far from them. There was an opening in the line of their men, enough so that they could break through onto the other side and fight alongside Odin Allfather and even gain access to the palace. It was just a matter of making the right movement at the right time, but they could make it if they moved quickly, and then they would be able to protect those that they sought to protect.

 

“We must go,” Thor snapped.

 

Thor ran quickly, although he was forced to dodge a long-distance attack. It felt and looked as if a dagger had been thrown, something that reminded him at once of his husband’s fighting style, and for a brief moment he felt a sense of relief that Loki could be fine and horror that he could also be in this battle. He broke his way through the line and ran up the steps, and as he turned he saw Sif follow and in her hand there was a familiar dagger. It was Loki’s.

 

“It seems that your husband wishes for your attention,” said Sif.

 

“He is here? Where is he? I see him not.”

 

Sif tossed the dagger to the side. It was not an action borne out of disrespect, for it was a simple and disposable tool, but the action still drew a pang of ire to Thor’s heart as he saw it committed. He marched to the top of the steps and looked out across the fray, as he desperately sought to find a familiar face, and as Sif joined him it seemed that even her eyes were no match for his in their search. The only thing he noticed was that now the Jotun spread out: they covered the sides that had before forgotten.

 

He wondered if this were the sight Odin that had been greeted with at the start of battle. It was possible that his father – his king – had exited the palace and seen all that Thor saw before him now, but what would he have thought and how would he have acted? There was no way that he would ever allow Loki to battle, especially given the situation of the war and the risk to the younger man’s life, but it was clear – from the dagger that belonged to his husband – that he was involved in the battle regardless. It was clear something was wrong. Frigga would not have allowed such participation, and Loki would not leave Fríða alone . . . Thor held back his deepest fears that something had happened to one or both. He needed to remain calm. 

 

“I see the Allfather, Thor,” said Sif.

 

Thor followed her gaze across the steps to the centre of the landing, just before the doors to the palace. It seemed as if his father had fought within the fray for some time, but had only just been pushed back onto the landing, and there he fought one-on-one with a Jotun of considerable strength. There was a brief moment when it seemed as if his father would be overcome, but as the sword came down – pushing against the king’s and forcing him almost to his knees – there came a sudden burst of strength and passion from the older man. He shoved the Jotun away.

 

It was enough to give Thor faith. He could see that his father was strong, enough so that he appeared to be winning this battle, but the battle between him and Jotun appeared so personal, as if this very man had caused him some slight in some way. Thor wondered what had happened, but he also knew that such explanations could wait for some other time. He needed to find Loki and be certain of Fríða’s safety. It was then that he saw his husband. It was then that he saw Loki. 

 

Loki fought against two Jotun men, both of which that appeared less regal and lower in status than their counterpart that battled with Odin. It hurt Thor to see him. He could see the pain in his husband’s face; his skin was deathly pale, whilst his eyes were bloodshot and seemed filled with unshed tears, and he could even detect the tremor to Loki’s hands as he moved violently. What had happened that had made Loki so grief-stricken? Why did he fight alongside Odin Allfather? Thor felt a heavy weight of dread in his stomach and seemed to choke upon the air, for his first and only thoughts turned to Fríða. She had to be safe. Loki did not grieve for her, surely? No. He knew his daughter to be alive. He could not endure the thought of her loss.

 

“There,” he said. “I see him. I see Loki!”

 

It was then that Loki struck one of the two men with his short-sword. It killed the Jotun almost instantly, so that he looked down to the sword with an expression of horror and then slid to the ground, where Loki then kicked him hard and watched with a bitter smile as he rolled down the steps to the bloodied ground. The other Jotun roared and pushed forward so that Loki was forced to give his all, and – for a man used to long-distance fighting and spells – it seemed that he struggled somewhat. He used all the techniques taught to him by Frigga, but he struggled regardless.

 

“I will remain here and fight,” said Sif. “Go to him. Hurry!”

 

Thor ran to Loki as Sif held back a group of Jotun, whilst the Asgardian guards supported her and helped her to hold the enemy at a distance. He moved quickly, as he dodged stray blows and moved past his father, and as he did so he felt certain that he heard Odin call out his name. Loki darted his gaze to Thor for a brief moment, but it passed by so quickly that he was at once fighting the Jotun man, as if he had not even noticed Thor’s presence in the slightest.

 

He pushed back all thoughts of Fríða, for if he thought too much on her – of the grief in his husband’s eyes, of her possible death in his absence – then he would be unable to move past his pain and it would destroy his ability to fight. He needed to be strong for Loki. He needed to fight. Loki appeared weakened suddenly, but Thor could only assume that his deep grief forced him into a desire for revenge so deep that only the feel of blood on his hands would sate it, that an illusion or long-distance shot would do nought to ease that rage in his heart. It distracted Loki, enough that he did not appear to notice that the blade of his foe came too close to his neck, and at once Thor let out a piercing cry and dived before his husband.

 

The Jotun reared back as Thor struck him with Mjölnir. It was not a hard blow, for he could safely assume that Loki would wish to strike the death-blow himself and end the life of the man that so deeply offended him, but it was enough that it knocked their foe onto his back and seemed to knock him out momentarily. Loki lowered his weapon and began to pant out in exhaustion, whilst he glared down at the weakened Jotun and kicked his leg hard with his foot.

 

“Thank you, _Husband_ ,” snapped Loki, “but I had it under control.”

 

“He was just about to strike you dead! I know not what has happened in my absence, but it is not safe for you out here in the open! Do you know that the Jotun accuse you of allowing them entry? Do you see that they vie for your blood and capture?”

 

“ _I know!_ ” Loki drew in deep breath. “ _I know_. I let them in . . .”

 

“You would not even lie to me?”

 

Loki opened his mouth to speak, but he soon closed it and stopped. He seemed to choke on the very air, as he hunched his back and allowed his eyes to dart from Thor to the Jotun below, and when he looked back to Thor – properly and completely – he seemed to do so with broken eyes. The tears fell and dampened his complexion. The sneer upon his lips was dark and dangerous; enough to express that he was moments away from screaming out in frustration and desperation. The sword-hand shook.

 

“They _killed_ her!” Loki cried. “It’s my fault she’s dead!”

 

“They killed who, Loki? Who did they kill?”

 

Thor drew forward and shook Loki by his shoulders. He was afraid that Loki was hurt in some way, perhaps traumatised even, and he hated feeling so helpless as to see his husband hurt and be able to do nothing to ease his suffering. The admission that he had allowed the Jotun in meant nothing to him, for it could be discussed in private later and hopefully held good reason, but arguing about such actions would not help matters in any way or form. It would not bring his daughter back to life, should she have died, just as it would not grant vengeance on those that had killed her. Loki’s head rolled about his shoulders. He was not listening to Thor.

 

The panic was unbearable to endure, for it seemed that every second stretched into an eternity, and the more he thought about his daughter it seemed that the more painful it became to breathe. Thor struggled to calm his heart. He thought to Fríða and remembered how she looked when she had been born, the way that she clung to him at night when she slept upon his chest, and the hopes he held for her future. Loki loved her as much as he did, just as he would grieve as deeply as he would . . .

 

“Loki, _who did they kill_?”

 

Thor shook Loki again, but then the younger man let out a piercing cry and pushed him away with a rather furious expression. He stepped back away from Thor and inevitably towards the panting Jotun, who simply glared at them both with a sickening smile that infuriated Thor to see, whilst Loki turned his expression into something darker and more dangerous. He looked to Thor as one might a stranger and then shook his head, before he looked back with pleading and pained eyes.

 

“Who did they kill, Loki? Who?”

 

“They killed her. _Fri_ -”

 

It was then that Loki fell silent. Thor took a long moment to realise why, but when he followed his husband’s gaze down he could see the sword . . . it had run through Loki’s stomach . . . Loki’s hands came up to the wound, where they shook and his weapon dropped with the lack of strength to hold it, but as soon as he touched the sword it was drawn away. The blood pooled and his body staggered. It seemed as if he sought to hold the wound closed, but they both knew that the likelihood of such an attack evading all vital organs was bleak at best, and then – without the strength to hold his body – he fell back upon the ground. Loki choked slightly and laughed nervously, before he then looked up to Thor and then to the Jotun by his side.

 

The Jotun gave a faint smile, before he turned somewhat and his body rolled and began its tumulus descent down the stairs. It may have been that the weakened man survived, but – thankfully – it seemed that their guards below had seen this display of violence and drew their swords, so that within moments the Jotun was skewered and little remained but his blood. Thor saw – when the guards moved away – the Jotun lying in his blood, with organs open to the air . . .

 

“Loki. Loki, no . . . you cannot die here.”

 

“Thor – Thor, forgive me. I – I am so sorry. I am so sorry.”

 

“What is there to forgive? You will not die.”

 

Loki drew in a staggered and broken breath, as he smiled at Thor. It seemed in that instant that the world around them no longer existed, that it was simply just Thor and Loki and no one else, and yet as he reached out to the younger man he was reminded of just how real the situation was at hand. Loki reached up to touch Thor’s hand, as the blond warrior stroked his cheek and whispered kind words over and over, and then – suddenly and without warning – Loki’s eyes closed . . .

 

Thor screamed furiously. It seemed that the sky appeared to darken with his rage, but he found himself so blinded by tears that the world appeared dark to him in any case, and as looked to Loki it seemed that his world had come to an end. He shook Loki by his shoulders, desperately searching for some form of life, and yet there was no sign of life to be given. It seemed that a slight dark tinge appeared on Loki’s skin, whilst he felt deathly cold to the touch, and all the while the sounds of the battle continued as if his husband had not been felled . . . had not been killed . . . and it was then that he thought to Fríða. He had to believe that she was alive, but were she alive then she would grow up without Loki . . . she would not know the one that bore her . . . Thor felt alone. He felt afraid. He screamed out again in pain.

 

Sif suddenly appeared by his side. He felt a hand at his shoulder; it was almost as if it sought to pull him away, and yet he fought it and tried to believe that Loki would be okay. He fought the hold and shook Loki once more. They needed Thor to fight, but he could not bring himself to do so when the man that he had grown to love so much lay beneath him drowned in his blood. The wound appeared so small, but it had likely destroyed so many organs and lost so much vital fluid . . . he thought Sif spoke to him, but he heard her not. He heard nothing but his beating heart.

 

Thor drew in a broken breath, before he leaned down and placed a kiss upon Loki’s lips. It was filled with more love than he had ever believed possible. Those lips felt cold to the touch and did not move as he touched upon them, which forced his tears to fall upon his husband’s cheeks, and he thought back absently to his first kiss with Loki. He remembered the love that he had felt, how they had laid together for the first time facing one another . . . the trust, the love and the respect . . . now he was gone.

 

“Your death will not be in vain.”

 

He stood shakily to his feet and looked out across the battle. It was as if he looked at the war for the first time, seeing it as it truly was despite having fought in it and sacrificed so much for it. Thor wondered if Loki had felt this way when he sought for revenge, if he had felt an overwhelming emptiness that could only be filled by the life of another, and yet he knew – even as he wondered if Loki had known it – that nothing would make his pain go away. He knew his grief would never leave him.

 

It seemed that Sif had grown somewhat emotional, for she looked to Loki with a mournful and pained expression. Thor wished to know her mind, but he feared that should he speak that he would break completely, and he knew that he needed to be strong in order to protect those closest to him. He had lost Loki, but he had also lost either his mother or daughter . . . his husband had not been able to finish his word, to end his sentence, and so Thor was kept in a state of purgatory. He hated himself for having such a thought, but he hoped – prayed to all that would listen – that the name upon Loki’s lips had been ‘Frigga’ and not ‘Fríða’. There could be no greater tragedy than to lose his daughter . . . his reason for living.

 

“I will move Loki’s body,” said Sif.

 

“Keep him safe . . . warm . . . he would not wish to be cold.”

 

Thor could not look at his husband. He did not wish for his last memory to be of a corpse, but instead of a man that had spent his very last breath fighting for vengeance, acting as a warrior should. Thor felt certain that he would never love anyone as he did Loki, just as he could not envision a life with any other, and in his mind he began to think of the stories he would tell to Fríða and how he would speak of Loki to her, and suddenly the sorrow could not be contained. Where was his daughter?

 

“I will keep him safe and stay by his side,” said Sif. “He will not be alone.”

 

“I thank you, as would Loki . . .”

 

Sif gently placed her arms beneath Loki and slid him closer to the palace wall. It seemed that her strength made it easy for her, but as she moved his husband he thought – in a moment of weakness – that he heard a gasp of pain from the prone body in her arms. He snapped his head away and drew in a deep breath, unable to deal with the thoughts that tormented him. Thor wanted nothing more than for Loki to live, to wrap his arms around him and be reassured of his health, but he could do nought but try to push back his grief and accept the events. The imaginings of his mind only reminded him of his loss . . . he wondered how Loki would have acted had it been Thor stabbed and killed. He wondered what he would do.

 

Thor looked across the landing and saw his father fighting against the other Jotun, whose status looked far greater than the two that had been felled by himself and Loki, and he thought how it seemed that they had fought for a long time. Odin grew tired against his foe; there was the fear that he had delayed his Odinsleep for far too long, enough so that Thor found himself preparing to move forward to defend his father and save his life against this Jotun. He could not watch for much longer.

 

The Jotun came forward to strike a blow to Odin, but the older man dodged to the left at the last moment so as to miss the attack. It was clear that his reflexes were slower than they once may have been, although he still had an enviable amount of skill, and as he fought the Jotun struggled to pull back his sword from where it had become stuck in the stone beneath. Thor stalked forward, but the Jotun managed to free his sword and turned it quickly against him. He dodged the blow as he jumped backwards. Odin retaliated by slashing a deep cut on the man’s back and drawing his attention back to him, so that soon the battle was two-on-one.

 

“It seems that we have both lost our loves,” shouted Odin.

 

Thor sagged visibly in relief. The moment of distraction was enough that the Jotun was able to knock him to his knees, an act that caused him to growl out in anger and forced him to rely on his father to deflect the blow aimed at his head. Thor reacted by crushing the Jotun’s left shoulder with Mjölnir and disabling his arm, which was satisfaction enough in that moment. He felt immense pain for the loss of Frigga, but this meant that Fríða was alive. His daughter lived!

 

“Then Fríða is -?”

 

“Safe, though I know not where she lies.”

 

Thor rose to his feet and drew in strength at these words, for now he fought for something greater than revenge: he fought for Fríða. He gripped tightly onto his hammer and thought to Loki, for his husband surely fought to protect his daughter just as he sought to avenge his mother, and it was for Loki that he would win this battle. He would secure victory in his honour. The relief that he felt was completely consuming, and yet he would not trade that feeling for anything in the world.

 

The Jotun fought with great skill and strength, enough so that it seemed that they had saved their best men for this ambush. Thor regretted that he had not returned sooner, for it seemed as if they needed him in this battle, but their men had forced back the Jotun enough that it seemed they would win soon, and it would not take long to defeat this man that seemed to think so highly of himself. Thor kept the offensive, whilst Odin supported him by the side and struck whenever the opportunity announced itself, and soon the Jotun struggled to defend himself against both men at once. Thor growled loudly in frustration and tried not to look away in search of Loki’s body.

 

“Loki fought bravely,” Odin said. “You would have been proud.”

 

“I will forever be proud. He is my husband. I love him.”

 

“You are lucky. He knew of your love, but as king my feelings were hidden. It is true that his past actions could not be condoned, but what he did today was the actions of a true warrior. I would tell him so, if I could.”

 

Those words were of little comfort. Thor had much criticism of his father’s style as both a king and as a father, but those words would mean nothing now that the damage was done and the battle was in progress. He should have spoken more when he had the chance, just as he would have to speak again when the battle was over, and yet he found himself distracted by the Jotun that acted too swiftly for Odin to react. The Jotun moved as if to strike from the left, but struck to the right at the last moment.

 

“ _Father_!”

 

It seemed that Odin did not see the blow. He had expected the blow to come from the left, but the sudden and abrupt movement seemed to come as a surprise, and – although Thor did not wish to blame it upon age – he suspected that the exhaustion from the need for the Odinsleep that had caused a delay in reaction. Thor had already lost his husband and his mother, but to lose his father also would be an emotional blow that he could not endure. He knew that the other’s life relied on him.

 

Thor raged forward and drew down his hammer upon the Jotun’s head, which stopped their foe before he had true chance to even deliver his attack. He did not ease the power in his arm until he felt the ground beneath him crack, even when the air seemed painted in blood and the sound of the Jotun’s skull smashing echoed about the battle, and he did not even register that this man – this enemy – had no chance to even scream or cry out as death struck so abrupt. Thor pulled back his hand and cried loudly, whilst chunks of brain matter seemed to fly back with the force of his movement. He let his hand fall by his side and screamed to the heavens.

 

He did not register as his father stepped forward. The older man kicked hard at the Jotun and continued to do so until he was pushed down the steps, and then he turned and came to walk beside Thor. The king appeared brave and regal, despite his many injuries and the blood upon him, and yet he seemed strangely content and disconnected from the battle around them. The battle seemed to be drawing to a close, with their men now vastly outnumbering the Jotun. It would not matter how many were killed: it would not bring back Loki or Frigga.

 

“You did well, son,” said Odin.

 

The words of kindness meant nothing to him, not when he had lost everything that had meant anything to him, and yet as he looked to his father it became clear that the older man felt as he did. Odin had lost everything, too. He had lost Frigga. Thor wished to offer him kind words or promises of how he would now act according to his responsibilities, but those words would be as hollow to his father as his father’s words were to him. It was then that Sif shouted to him to break his thoughts.

 

“Thor!” Sif cried. “Thor, come quick!”

 

Thor and Odin both turned to look to their greatest warrior. It seemed that Sif had propped Loki against the wall in a sitting position, whilst her hands were buried past his armour and clothing and touched bare skin. She seemed to strive to hold his wound, whilst his head lolled to the side somewhat, and the look in her eyes was an eager one of excitement and hope. Thor could not understand why she seemed to think that she could save Loki, but she believed that she could . . .

 

It was then that Thor saw a flutter to Loki’s eyes, as well as a slight movement to his lips, and he found himself filled with such raw emotion that he struggled to even identify what he truly felt. There was an intense rush of love and relief, which nearly crippled him as he felt his body weakened, but also a desperate and overwhelming terror that Loki may still die and that he would have to endure that grief all over again, and the moments suddenly seemed to stretch into millennia. Thor raised a shaking hand to his face and felt the tears that fell. He felt furious at Loki, an anger beyond all reason, for he had nearly lost his husband and to such juvenile reasons, and yet he felt more anger at himself . . . helpless . . . and happy at having Loki back.

 

“Thor,” said Odin, “you must go to Loki.”

 

He ran. He moved to Loki’s side with a far greater speed than he recognised himself capable of, but at once he took his husband’s hands in his and held them as tightly as he was able without hurting the other man. They felt impossibly cold. Thor brought them to his lips and kissed them over and over, whilst he tried not to cry excessively, for they were still in the midst of battle – even if they were winning – and he could not emasculate himself before his men. Loki lived. He lived!

 

“Loki, I thought you to be dead!”

 

Thor pressed a kiss to Loki’s lips and laughed into it, whilst his husband – still weak and confused – did nothing except sigh. It seemed that Loki tried to kiss back; his lips moved gently and chastely, even as Thor sought to taste him and reassure him of his presence, and yet the kiss was doomed to be clumsy and awkward regardless. Thor continued to laugh until he could hold in his happiness no longer, and instead he rested his forehead against his husband’s and simply held himself to the other for a long moment, whilst Sif continued to tend to the wound.

 

“I am happy to be able to kiss you once more!”

 

“N-not I,” murmured Loki. “You – you taste of blood a-and tears.”

 

Thor laughed again and ran his hands over Loki’s face. Those cheeks were still cold and felt somewhat clammy to touch, but he felt as if to let go of Loki once more would be to lose him forever, and he never wanted to let Loki go ever again. He vowed – in that moment – that he would not celebrate the victory of war with his friends or family, nor would he drink or laugh or tell tales . . . no . . . instead he would spend the week – perhaps month – simply locked in his rooms with Loki . . .

 

It was then that Loki seemed to try to speak, as he turned his head slightly from side to side to shake away Thor’s hands and touch. Thor contented himself by holding onto his husband’s limp hand instead, as he looked into those green eyes and tried to reassure himself that all was okay, and it was then that he saw Loki smile warmly and sincerely, as if he were happy to have the other by his side. He seemed so beautiful in that moment, and yet Thor held a dark and horrifying fear that perhaps he was watching Loki in his last moments, that the younger man still may leave him yet. He could not lose Loki again. He could not. Loki was his everything.

 

“You must go to Fríða, Thor.”

 

Thor felt relieved that their daughter was his husband’s first thought, but it worried him that he needed to go to her . . . he wondered who was with her and whether she had been left alone. He suddenly felt himself cast into shadow, but he did not need to look around to know that it was his father that stood behind him, and suddenly he felt surrounded and trapped. Sif was before him on her knees, whilst his father stood behind him tall and proud, and Loki sat vulnerable and broken.

 

“Where is she, Loki?” Thor asked. “Where is our daughter?”

 

“W-we left her in Mother’s room,” Loki replied quietly. “Go to her! T-the illusion cast over her would have broken with me . . . they – they will not find her where she is, but I – I cannot take that risk . . . please, Thor. _Go_.”

 

“Mother’s room? They will surely find her!”

 

Odin did not flinch as Thor stood quickly to his feet. It sounded as if Loki struggled to breathe beneath him, whilst Sif whispered to him to calm himself and reassured him that the wound had begun to heal itself. Thor tried to remember that Loki would be fine, for else he would be consumed with panic, but he could not shake the horror and fury that his husband had hid his daughter alone in such an obvious place. He did not wish to think what would happen should Fríða cry, let alone the blood that would be shed should she be captured or taken by the Jotun. He had to go to her.

 

“There is a tapestry in our room,” said Odin. “Behind it lies a hidden chamber, where your mother once made your nursery when you were young. It is difficult to find, even without the spell of illusion, but her safety cannot be guaranteed. Go quickly, Thor. We shall escort Loki to the healers and I shall send guards after you. The Jotun should all be routed out from the palace, but this is not certain. Be careful.”

 

“Swear to me that you shall protect Loki. Do not let him from your sight and do not allow any harm to come to him. I shall return the moment that I find Fríða, but please . . . I cannot lose Loki again. I cannot lose my husband.”

 

“He shall be fine, I swear. Go, Thor.”

 

Thor nodded in acknowledgement. He ran into the palace and made his way to the private quarters. He had memorised the steps to his parents’ rooms since childhood, having trodden that path hundreds of times, and so he moved as if possessed – acting on sheer instinct – as he raced to get to Fríða. It seemed as if his heart were fit to burst, the fear that he felt giving him an adrenaline burst unlike any other, and he could only hope that he reached her in time . . .

 

He thought only of Fríða.

 


	32. Chapter 32

# Chapter Thirty-Two

****

Fríða was distressed.

Thor knew his daughter’s cries. He perhaps knew them better than even Loki, for with even the briefest of murmurs or whines he could tell exactly what she needed, and he knew – without a doubt – that she was frightened and in need of him. Hers was a high-pitched cry that veered on a scream, but broken with occasional chokes that made it seem as if her voice had grown sore. How long had she been left alone? Fríða had never been left alone before, _never_. She would be afraid.

 

It seemed that his every instinct screamed at him to go to her, especially when he knew that she would likely be hungry and dirty had she been left for a while. He would need to change her, feed her and soothe her. He felt it as strong and as intense as he did his physical wounds, so that his stomach seemed to roll and harden every second that he ignored her calls, and yet he knew that to run to her side would be to perhaps put her in more danger than to ignore her calls to him. He drew in deep breath. The rooms of his parents felt cold, enough so that he was reminded briefly of his battle upon Jotunheim, and he wondered if the cold had hurt Fríða. They would not have left her without being swaddled and blanketed, surely?

 

He looked about the rooms and took in his surroundings. The truth was that he had already been forced to kill two Jotun already inside the palace grounds, for there were those few that had broken away from the fray at the palace steps and those that sought to infiltrate the palace to retrieve Loki and Fríða. He could not be certain – in rooms so large and complex – that he was alone. The cries of his daughter had carried down the long corridor, and – although he hoped that it was just his paternal instinct alone that had caused him to hear them – he was certain that others had heard her, too.

 

Thor felt his body ache and groan beneath him, for his skin was marred with slashes and bruises aplenty, and yet even as he struggled to find strength and breath he felt on his full guard. He listened carefully and braced himself. He did not wish to alert any possible intruders to his presence, lest they hurt Fríða in their panic or he lost his advantage, and so he remained still and motionless. He waited. The room seemed to build with electricity as all his senses sharpened. He tried to remain calm.

 

_‘Hush now. Hush.’_

Thor felt his body turn to ice. He looked directly to the tapestry at the far end of the room, where he saw it move lightly despite the lack of any real breeze, and he knew at once that the voice had come from that secret room. There was somebody moving inside that room, enough that it caused the tapestry to move to be noticed, and there was someone talking . . . they spoke to Fríða . . . they were with his daughter. He had never known true fear until that moment.

 

He stepped slowly and cautiously through the room, making sure to remain silent so as not to alert the man to his presence. Thor tried to reason what was happening, just as he had learned from his husband to do, and he clung firmly to the belief that a Jotun that sought to hurt Fríða – that wanted only her blood – would not have whispered so sincerely for her to become quiet . . . they would have killed her upon sight had that been their intent. It seemed that whoever was inside the hidden room tried only to calm his daughter, but she cried and screamed for a familiar face regardless. Thor prayed that the stranger did not hold his daughter. The idea that someone could touch her, hold her, without his consent . . . when they were so unworthy of her presence . . . sickened him.

 

 _‘I wonder if I can_ make _you hush.’_

Thor stepped close to the tapestry and slowly put his free hand upon it, and as he listened he felt certain that the man within the hidden room stood some distance from his daughter. He would have to announce his presence at the right moment. Thor knew that were he to storm inside that the intruder would automatically go to Fríða, to either hold her hostage or to kill her to make a point, and so he would have to wait until the man had wandered far enough away that Thor’s weapon would meet him before he had a chance to meet with Fríða.

 

_‘You Asgardian half-blood, borne of a bastard!’_

There was the sound of an object slamming. It sounded like something metal – perhaps a tin cup or container – had been banged down against a wooden surface, and it was enough to remind Thor of how his father would slam down his cup after a meal and begin to tell stories of his greater battles. He hated that this man could be in such a domestic setting – a place that should have been safe – and stood so close to his daughter, an intruder in this sacred place.

 

Fríða continued to cry from the far left of the room, and Thor – also on the left – took that moment to throw back the tapestry. The secret room was dark despite the heavy candlelight, whilst the sight of Fríða in an old cot was almost enough to distract him, and it took every ounce of strength he had to not run to her side. He kept his eyes fixed firmly upon the Jotun. The Jotun invader at once drew his sword and pointed it directly to Thor, perhaps out of recognition for the true threat and acknowledgement that he would not reach the princess in time to do harm. Thor felt his heart beat strongly and rapidly in his chest, as the anger threatened to explode.

 

“You dare insult my daughter?”

 

“I find her very _life_ to be an insult,” said the Jotun. “I have – alas – my orders. This child lives as an heir to the throne of Jotunheim. She is a direct descendent of King Laufey, as such there are those that see her life as full of worth. I have been ordered to retrieve her by any means necessary. You may fight me should you wish, but I _will_ take her. You will not stop me.”

 

“You must think me more monster than man, if you believe that I shall not fight! My daughter is not simply a trophy to be won or a relic to be stolen! She is my flesh and blood. _She is my life_. Your orders mean nothing: the war is over. You have lost.”

 

“I have not lost yet, _Princess_.”

 

The Jotun dove towards the centre of the nursery. It seemed that he was intent on fighting, but that he strove to do so in a place that offered him the best advantage. Thor would have to keep his movements minimal and completely adapt his fighting technique, for the slightest miscalculation in his movements would result in great damage to his daughter. He also feared that the Jotun would feign movements towards Fríða to gain a reaction from him, to make move to protect and be struck in return.

 

Thor swung Mjölnir lazily as he tried to assess the situation; the action was simply enough to intimidate the Jotun, whilst he made sure that his hammer was ready to use the moment that the occasion arose. It seemed that the two men were now circling one another, each one intent on assessing the other and waiting for the other to make the first move, and yet Thor knew – in such an enclosed space – that the one to move first would leave themselves open for a solid blow. The air felt tense, enough so that Thor felt a wave of fear course through him. He doubted himself for the first time. He knew that should he lose this fight that his daughter would suffer.

 

It was then that the Jotun moved. The man was skilled in swordsmanship, but he kept his attacks wide in order to exact more damage and threaten risk to the child, and Thor was caught between defending himself against the blow and sacrificing himself to deep slashes to prevent harm to Fríða. The battle was intense indeed, enough so that he had not a moment’s rest, and objects about the room smashed into pieces. A vase above Fríða’s cot broke, which distracted Thor in a moment of panic. The blade hurt, but the relief of seeing Fríða safe outweighed the pain. No shards were near her.

 

They fought for the longest of time, enough so that Thor began to feel the exhaustion seep into every vein, and in a moment of fear he wondered if he would be too weak to win this battle against the Jotun. It was then that the Jotun laughed. The sound alone would have done little to get a reaction from Thor, but he saw at once that the Jotun man had stepped backwards – stepped towards Fríða – and Thor saw the sword raised only after he had instinctively reacted. The proximity to his daughter had been enough to instigate a primal terror, and the moment the sword lifted Thor had already brought down Mjölnir upon the other’s head. There was a crack of his hammer upon stone, with the remains of the man’s head between . . . Thor wrapped the strap for his hammer around his wrist and turned to his daughter. He cared for nothing but her.

 

Fríða appeared unharmed. It was almost as if she had no awareness of the man that had died just feet from her cot or the blood that ran down the wall, and Thor would have it no other way. He allowed a tear to fall out of sheer relief. She was unhurt! He smiled and noticed that his tear seemed to fall on her tearstained cheek as he leaned over the cot to look upon her. He laughed breathlessly and reached out to touch her reddened cheeks, but it seemed that his touch left only a mark of blood upon her, and to see her bloodied felt unnatural and immoral. She was beautiful. It seemed that – even with her bloodshot eyes and dark cheeks – that she was truly beautiful. 

 

“ _Fríða_! My Fríða . . . ”

 

He reached into the cot and lifted her out, at which point she seemed to quieten her cries just slightly. It seemed that she did not need changing, which a quick sniff confirmed, and Thor felt relieved that she had not been left to lie in waste or had been left for too long without the company of another. He held her to his breast as Loki often did, with his hand to support her neck and his other hand to hold her weight about the buttocks, and into her ear he began to whisper reassurances. Fríða merely murmured uncomfortably at his voice. She would be hungry, perhaps tired, and it would take a long while to comfort her, perhaps she longed for Loki also . . .

 

Thor gave a heavy sigh and tried to ignore the cuts and bruises to his body, or the way it felt as though some bones had been fractured, and the way that parts of his flesh had swollen and had grown sore. There were parts of his hair clotted with blood, enough so that he felt certain he would need to cut short his blond locks in order to free them from the blood and dirt, and he wondered how Loki would react to that. He wanted to clean himself. He did not wish for Fríða to become dirtied simply from his touch.

 

“The war is over, child,” he murmured. “Let us go to your father.”

 

He slowly moved his way out of the nursery. He struggled to balance as he pushed away the tapestry; he held Fríða in just one arm, so that the crook of his limb held her in place and his left hand supported her neck. Loki would surely have chastised him for such a hold were he able to see it in action, but the younger man was oblivious to much of what Thor did and said when out of sight. He was certain that – when Fríða was older – he would have either an invaluable ally or a much higher need to resort to bribery, for he knew that children were prone to telling on those that they saw commit wrongdoings . . . Loki and Thor had resorted to ‘tattling’ often as children.

 

Thor smiled as he remembered how – after Odin had chastised a far younger Loki for telling upon Thor’s misdeeds – that Loki had run straight to Frigga and told her of a certain story that Odin had told his oldest son, one that should never have been spoken to one so young or so impressionable. He could remember Loki’s smirk as their parents argued, just as he could remember how Frigga refused to divulge her sources and how no punishment was able to fall upon the younger boy.

 

He shook his head from such memories and held onto Fríða properly, whilst the tapestry fell back into place and hid the bloody corpse from sight. The room felt deathly cold, enough that it pushed him immediately from its folds, but he realised that his pace was far slower with the slight limp to his leg and the ensuing exhaustion. It was unclear to him how long he had fought with little to no energy, forced to rely on reserves that he had been unaware of and out of sheer determination, but now that the war had been won – now that his instinctual desire to protect had been sated – he felt an overwhelming amount of pain and various aches. Thor wished to simply collapse and to sleep, but he needed to reach the healers. Fríða needed to be reunited with her other father. Fríða came first.

 

“Prince Thor!”

 

It seemed that Thor had moved on instinct alone. He found that he stood within the corridor to the private chambers of the royal family, where a royal guard stood with a group of men to full attention. Odin had likely sent them; some men would retrieve Frigga’s body, whilst other men would support Thor in battle should the prince find himself in trouble. They knew not that his daughter had nearly been stolen, but they knew – from the sight of her in his arms – that she was safe and unharmed.

 

“Go to the hidden room behind the tapestry,” said Thor. He nodded to the quarters of his father. “There you will find a Jotun, dead. You will take his body and make an example of it. The survivors will see what happens to those that threaten my daughter. I care not what you do to the body, so long as the message is sent.”

 

“Yes, my lord.”

 

Thor did not stay to make sure that they obeyed. He knew for a fact that they would follow his order to the letter, and that most likely they would stage the body in the dungeons so that the surviving prisoners would see it clearly. It was not that he took glee in the death of this man, nor sought a sadistic pleasure in further hurting those men that lived, but that his fury – the livid anger and desperate fear that coursed through his veins – demanded some form of vengeance. He wished for the ultimate protection for Fríða. He had failed her by not being by her side, but now he would do right by her: all would know that her life was sacred.

 

The walk to the chambers of the healers was far quicker than he thought, almost as if he had lost time and forgotten the space between his movements, and he found himself almost surprised to be standing before the doors to the rooms. He thought back to how the last time he had been here had been to witness the birth of his daughter, and the time before that to learn of the news of his son. This was a place filled with warm memories, yet the place where Loki lay injured and broken.

 

Fríða chose that moment to stir in his arms, which awakened him to the situation at hand, and caused him to realise that the stress and exertion of battle had stunned him. He had lost his mother, although he had not truly realised or comprehended that fact until that very moment. He had been so lost by the grief of losing Loki, and then the relief of having him once again in his life, that all other emotions had been pushed to one side, and then there had been Fríða . . . the fear that harm could befall her had consumed him. Her death would be his destruction. Now, it seemed, that he knew not what to feel. Grief competed against relief and pride fought against shame.

 

Thor shook such thoughts from his mind. He entered the healing chamber.

 

It did not take him long to find Loki, for his husband had been given a private room to recuperate in and found himself surrounded by healers. The wounded and injured men barely drew Thor’s attention as he wandered past them in his panic, but Loki’s room – which seemed to contain a constant ebb and flow of people – gained his full attention, especially so when he wandered into its folds and saw his husband. Loki lay prone upon a bed and seemed to be barely conscious.

 

Loki was deathly pale, enough so that all trace of colour had vanished from his face and he appeared to be nothing but a ghost of his former self. It seemed that the healers had bandaged his chest and abdomen, so much – in fact – that Thor feared the damage to his husband had been far greater than imagined, and over his shoulders they had draped his usual coat to keep him warm. Thor did not wait for permission to go to Loki. He was at once by his husband’s side and sat beside him in a chair meant for visitors, although he had been forced to command a healer to move out of it in order to sit there. The green eyes of his husband were unfocussed upon him.

 

“Fríða . . . she is unharmed?”

 

Thor gave a soft laugh of relief. It felt as if tears had welled in his eyes, but he could not be sure for they felt swollen from blows and strung from sweat and blood. He felt truly grateful that his husband’s first thought was that of their daughter, for he felt the love his Loki fresh as the day he had first realised his feelings, and yet he could not hide from the truth about his husband. Loki had let the Jotun within their realm. It was due to the actions of his husband that his mother had died.

 

“She is fine, Loki,” said Thor. “I will warn you that there is blood upon her cheek, but I promise that the blood came from me. I touched her out of instinct. The healers will verify for us that she is fine, I am sure, but trust me: she is well.”

 

“I am glad. Please . . . give her to me.”

 

Loki tried to turn on his side, but a healer forced him to lie on his back and chastised him for moving when the wound had only just begun to heal. The look that he sent her was colder than Jotunheim. Thor laughed and then gestured for the healer to leave, but she seemed reluctant to do so, and rather she merely stepped back and waited for the moment in which she would be needed again. Loki had strength to roll his eyes.

 

It was then that Thor gently lay Fríða on the bed beside her other father, so that she lay beside him and Loki was able to turn his head to see her, and – as she lay and gurgled to herself – he reached out his hand and draped it over her stomach. The smile upon Loki’s face was beautiful, especially the way his right hand – caught between his side and hers – rose awkwardly to stroke her cheek, and the scene before Thor was simply so filled with love that he almost forgot the war that had occurred. He lost himself in watching his husband and daughter. He lost himself in the moment.

 

“I was so lost in grief for Mother,” said Loki quietly, “that I forgot about our daughter. _I forgot her, Thor_. I simply assumed that she would be hidden well enough, even without the illusion, and let my desire for vengeance consume me . . . I felt nothing but grief and rage, but I should have felt for Fríða at least! I am glad she is safe, but it is not because of me that she is . . . I am a bad father.”

 

Thor drew in deep breath and rested his arm on the edge of the bed, so that Fríða would not be able to fall and Loki would feel some sense of reassurance, for his forearm touched upon the fingertips of his husband. The truth was that he felt angry with Loki, but he did not think his husband to be a bad father. There could be no denying that no one would have looked within the Allfather’s rooms, just as that the nursery was almost perfectly hidden, and almost all of the Jotun men had fought outside of the palace walls. The chances of her discovery had been low.

 

Loki would have brought more danger to Fríða by returning to her side, as the sight of his movements would have lured more Jotun to him, and they would have followed Loki and then sought to capture both father and child. It was likely that his husband had known this instinctively, that he had striven to protect their daughter and acted accordingly, but it would take great effort for Loki to believe this. Loki knew the minds of so many people, but he still struggled to understand his own.

 

The sounds that Fríða made were almost distracting, but so too was the way that she opened and closed her mouth as if in search of sustenance, and Thor recognised at once that she was growing hungry. It would be fifteen minutes – at most – before she would start to grow restless, then only a few more before she would cry and scream and only settle once given the milk she so needed. Thor noticed how Loki moved the fingers of the hand upon her stomach, so that his fingertip rested upon her lip, and soon she began to suckle as one would a ‘pacifier’, so that she fell silent and seemed as occupied as she did confused. Thor laughed at such an easy trick.

 

“You are a fine father,” said Thor.

 

“There is more to fatherhood than distracting a mewling babe,” replied Loki. “Fríða should be my first and last thought, my only concern, and instead I let her slip from my mind for an instant . . . she could have been killed! Tell me, would I have been a ‘fine’ father then? I failed Fríða. I should have ignored my need for revenge and gone to her . . . I should have gone to her!”

 

“Loki, you are no fool! You know as well as I that – should you have returned to Fríða – you would have been followed and _both_ of you would have been captured! You took a necessary risk. I am loath to admit it, but I would have acted the same.”

 

“You would have done so to put her first. I did so out of forgetfulness.”

 

“You have a lifetime to make it right.”

 

Thor stood carefully. He made sure to keep one hand beside his daughter, to be sure of her safety and to provide her a small comfort, and then leaned down to place a kiss upon Loki’s lips. It reassured him when Loki kissed back, so that the action lasted longer than would be considered chaste and shorter than would be considered passionate, and when he pulled back he saw tears in his husband’s eyes. Loki was devastated by the thought that he had put Fríða in danger, even when he had done right by her and likely saved her life. He would see in time that there was nothing to be forgiven, especially when Fríða was safe in their arms.

 

He pulled away and sat beside Loki once more, but the atmosphere of the room felt cold and tense in a way that he had not expected. The pain in his body was almost too much to ignore, whilst his husband lay weak from what had been a near-death experience, and there was so much that was left unsaid, so many unanswered questions that lingered in the air. Thor drew in deep breath and looked to the healers. There was no way that he could speak freely in their presence.

 

“I would be left alone with my husband,” Thor commanded.

 

“Prince Thor, we would not recommend such an act,” the healer replied. “Prince Loki has suffered a heavy blow and Eir recommends supervision until his wound has fully healed, and you yourself have endured many a –”

 

“My wounds are not my concern. Leave us, that is an order.”

 

“Yes, Prince Thor.”

 

The healer seemed to bristle slightly. It was true that she could assert herself were Loki in any real danger, just as she could defer to Eir and have their greatest healer demand Thor to leave, but with Loki stable – _safe_ – there was very little that she could do or say that would not cost her position. Thor spoke as the prince of their realm, as heir to the throne, and as such his will was absolute. He expected her to obey him and indeed she did. She led the rest of the healers out of the room and closed the door.

 

Loki let out a laugh of amusement, but the action caused his chest to jerk and hurt his wound quite considerably. He at once raised a leg and arched his back, whilst his hands came to his stomach to apply some pressure, and when he looked to Thor – despite his teary eyes – he wore a sarcastic smile that spoke more of his health than any words from the healers. Thor lifted Fríða back into his arms, for it was clear that Loki was too hurt to properly attend to her or give her attention, even though his eyes never left her and his right hand reached out for her. Thor sat at the edge of the bed, so that Loki – still chuckling – could rest his hand upon her head.

 

“You scared that poor healer, Husband,” said Loki. “How cruel.”

 

Thor ignored his husband’s jest. He merely waited for Loki to lie back and then carefully placed Fríða upon his chest, as he minded those bandaged wounds and made sure that she would be unable to reach or kick upon them. Loki smiled – this time out of pure love – and breathed in her scent, whilst he wrapped his hands around her and whispered to her words of adoration. Thor reached down to brush her blonde hair and thought about how similar his husband’s reaction to his daughter was to his.

 

“We need to talk,” Thor snapped.

 

“I know what you wish to know. You wish to hear about why I confessed to allowing the Jotun into our realm . . . you will either foolishly claim that I lie in order to protect your image of your perfect husband, or you shall else believe in the worst in me and seek only to know my reason behind my actions. I imagine that the first option will cause me to lose you, whereas the latter will cause me to lose my freedom.”

 

“There is some irony there,” said Thor sadly. “You and my father are so fond of tests of character and here is the perfect test for you. I wonder which you would truly value more? I will never hurt you in such a manner, Loki. I will not make you choose.”

 

“If that is the case, what is it that you want from me?”

 

“ _The truth_ , _Loki_. No more and no less.”

 

Loki frowned as if he did not believe in Thor’s words. It was true that he had a right to his scepticism, for he had committed treason against their realm and had risked the lives of so many people, but – above all that – he had personally betrayed Thor. They had made such progress, enough that Loki had earned Thor’s trust and complete love, but now it seemed that he had lied to Thor in the worst possible way. Thor simply wondered what Loki’s intent had been: the greater good or sheer mischief.

 

It was difficult to reach out to Loki when he felt so betrayed, but even when he had refused to visit the younger man – back when Loki had first been locked away after his actions on Midgard – he had never truly abandoned him. He had merely needed time to collect his feelings, to accept the man that Loki had become, and this was no different . . . he could not guarantee that he would be able to trust his husband after this, but he knew that his love for the other would not change. Thor did not know if their relationship would survive. He simply knew that he would not have Loki cast into prison needlessly, and as such his reaction would depend on Loki’s reasons. It would depend on how much of a danger Loki truly was.

 

He drew in a deep breath and moved his hand from Fríða. It was clear that the tremble in his hand revealed the extent of his fear, that today may prove an end to all that they had gained, but he needed Loki to know his feelings. Thor would always love him, whether they remained together or apart. _He loved him_. He reached out to stroke Loki’s cheek and smiled as best as he could, even though his split lip ached with the expression, and he held tighter when Loki nuzzled into his palm. Thor only pulled away when Loki smiled in turn, and then rested his hand on Loki’s thigh.

 

“My love is unconditional, Loki. You must speak the truth.”

 

“The truth is that the war was inevitable,” admitted Loki. “I think that we can both safely say how it would have ended, if I had not intervened. You would have battled with great strength and honour upon Jotunheim, just as you would have also won and secured the end of the war with our victory, but what would have occurred in the long term? Do you truly think that you would have been able to rest on your laurels forever? We would have simply returned to the status quo, _no more and no less_.

 

“I can just picture my future now. I would have been your little trophy, and their first words to me would have been the question of when I planned to bear you forth more heirs, for a warrior as great as you – whose strength was on par with Odin himself – would deserve and need many heirs and many children. I would have been thought of as nothing but a pretty ornament for you. I would have been a walking incubator for half-a-dozen crying babes, and my strength would have been forgotten as the battle took place far from my sight, and our daughter would have her true heritage ignored. It may be useful for her – in future – to be acknowledged as an heir to Laufey, but without that tie then should future conflict arise then she would not have the claim to her status to resolve it. She would be simply Asgardian.

 

“I acted selfishly, of this I admit. I simply wanted to prove my worth and be acknowledged as your equal, so that perhaps I could fight alongside you in future and bear forth more children when _I_ deemed fit, and so that I could secure my full freedom – _all my powers_ – by proving my allegiance to Asgard. Fríða Thorsdóttir would always have that claim to Jotunheim too, so that she would be able to use it to her advantage should she need. It was for our best interests. I did not expect Mother to stand in their way, to die so needlessly . . . it is my fault that she is dead.”

 

“You are not to blame, Loki.”

 

“She told me that she was to head to the gardens,” Loki continued. “I sent the Jotun that I met in what I thought was the opposite direction, and they trusted me for they believed me to be on their side, but there she was! I heard her scream. I went to her and found her dead . . . they had even used the dagger that you gave to them to kill her! _I gave you that dagger_. It seems that I may as well have plunged it into her breast myself! Sveinn, a servant of mine, says that he heard the Allfather weep.”

 

It seemed that raw emotion overcame Loki. The hand that supported Fríða clenched tightly upon her clothing, whilst he tilted back his head and drew in a staggered breath, and despite his broken breathing he apparently strove to regain control of his feelings. Loki paused for a long moment, before he gave a broken smile and looked down to his daughter with eyes wet with tears. He brought his finger back up for her to suckle in distraction, a trick that Thor had often tried to copy and yet never seemed to get correct, and she seemed to almost fall asleep in his hold. Fríða was oblivious to his silent weeping, just as she was oblivious to Thor’s developing suspicions and sense of dread. He envied her ignorance. 

 

“Loki, did you give that dagger to purposely antagonise the Jotun?”

 

“The war was inevitable, Thor. Your father made no true attempts to prevent it, which was well within his power to do, and once I had gained his trust I made no attempt to assuage his temper and persuade him to do otherwise. I gave the dagger on purpose, this much is true, but the war would have occurred regardless and I wished to appear trustworthy to the Jotun ruler. This way I seemed to be a secret ally, whereas you seemed to seek only war and insult their race. I did it only to help us.”

 

Thor withdrew his hand from Loki. It was impossible to remain calm in the face of what he heard, for it destroyed every last ounce of trust that he held in his husband. He loved Loki – _he loved him_ – and yet he had foolishly allowed himself to believe that Loki may have changed, that he had become something more than what he once had been, and yet the only thing that had appeared to change were his motives. Loki may have acted with reason and arguably good intentions, but his actions were unjust.

 

He wondered if Loki cared about the men that had died in battle, just as he wondered if the cries of the wounded so close by meant anything to him at all, and it was a question that he could not allow himself to dwell on for too long. Yes, the war had been inevitable. The truth was that the Jotun’s demands had been too high, just as the expectations of their realm for the conditions of surrender had been too great, and so there would have been battle regardless of the talks and attempts at reconciliation. Thor could understand his husband’s attempts to thus manipulate what would have occurred regardless, especially when it would have secured him complete freedom and access to the entirety of his powers, but to not tell Thor . . . to hide the truth from him, as if Thor were merely a pawn . . . the betrayal was deep.

 

They sat in silence for a long while. It seemed to be a positive step that at least Loki’s motivations had not been based solely in mischief or ambition, although Thor did not fool himself into thinking that ambition played no part in this. Thor had proven himself, just as Loki had proven himself to be on the side of Asgard, and so Thor would likely be offered the coronation denied to him so long ago. Loki had always wanted the throne too much . . . now he had it. He may not have the title of ‘king’, but he would wield just as much power as ‘king consort’. He acted selfishly, indeed.

 

“Do you tell me as you wish to confess or to manipulate me?”

 

“Both. I love you, Thor, but I fear imprisonment.”

 

“You are an honest liar.”

 

It was then that he heard the voice of Odin. There was no doubt that his father had come to speak to Thor and to question Loki, especially when their prisoners would likely openly claim the involvement of the youngest prince, and with so little ways open to them – save for his husband’s magic – much suspicion would fall upon Loki. The only potential saving grace was that the Jotun had much reason to lie and act out of revenge: Loki had killed their king, tricked them before, and they had just lost an invaluable war. They would seek to hurt Loki and Asgard through any means possible. Thor was certain that his word could save Loki.

 

The only question was whether Thor ought to save his husband. He loved Loki, that much was true, but his husband had put their realm at risk and his actions had led to the death of Frigga. It mattered not how much he would grieve, for nothing would bring her back and that pain would last until the day that they died. There was the hope that – if Loki had matured so much already – he would learn to control his impulses and act within reason, but what if Loki could not grow or change?

 

“You will tell the Allfather,” Loki said.

 

It sounded as if the younger man had resigned himself to his fate, but his hands only tightened around Fríða. He lowered his head and cried silently, whilst he breathed in her scent and whispered gently to her, and in that moment Thor remembered how much his husband worshipped their daughter. Loki had acted selfishly, but he had done so for the sake of Fríða and himself, and even when he thought of himself it was so that Fríða would have a father to be proud of and less competition to the throne.

 

“I will not say a word,” said Thor, “although I should.”

 

“Thank you, Husband.”

 

Odin entered the room and stood before the bed. The king had not yet changed from his battle armour and appeared bloodied and dirtied, but those things alone told little of his mind or emotions. It was the bloodshot eye and the tear-stains through the blood that marked him to be in deep grief, and from a man that so rarely showed his vulnerable side – that consciously hid his pain and fear – it was a revelation unlike any other and frightening to Thor. The mourning period for Frigga would be long.

 

He looked to Fríða on Loki’s chest and then looked to both men, almost as if he searched for an answer to the question that likely plagued him, and Thor – in that moment – recognised the sacrifice that his father committed by being in their presence. Odin would likely wish to sit with Frigga, to spend hours in her presence and say his goodbyes to her as he deemed fit, but instead he stood before his son and son-in-law as per his duty as king. It was inconceivable to Thor to imagine the grief that his father must endure, for the very thought of losing Loki was enough to make his heart seize into a vice, and yet his father lived without his spouse . . . his love.

 

“There is no greeting for your father?” Odin asked.

 

“I apologise,” said Thor. “I know not what to say. I feel the loss of my mother greatly, but I know – no matter how deep the wound – that it cannot compare to the depths of your grief. It feels that all words would run hollow.”

 

Thor could not ignore the look of pain that shot across Loki’s expression, for it seemed as if he could barely cope under the pressure of what he endured, and no doubt his guilt would completely overwhelm him should it be given chance. He would need to be watched and supervised, to make sure that no harm came to him, and he would perhaps mourn longer than any of them. Thor was certain that to hear the grief of Odin acknowledged, but not his own, likely hurt him greatly and caused him to withdraw into himself, and Thor could not help but reach out in that moment.

 

He felt Loki jerk slightly as he wrapped his hand over the blanket-clad leg, but then his husband seemed to give a visible sigh of relief and relaxed into the touch, and Thor could not help but to allow himself a sad smile. Thor would have lifted the blanket higher, to wrap around Loki and Fríða to keep them warm, but he did not wish to act so intimately in front of Odin. It felt somewhat vulgar to act so kindly with his spouse, at least when Odin had lost his wife and love . . .

 

Thor looked to Odin and saw the slight wince to his features, almost imperceptible to those that did not know the elderly king as those closest to him did, and he felt as if he were somehow intruding upon his moment of weakness. He saw the way that Odin looked to Fríða and wondered what his father thought. There was a slight resemblance between grandmother and granddaughter, enough so that Thor wondered how strong it would become as she grew older, and in that moment he smiled and so too did Odin, as if they shared the same sad thought.

 

“Your sympathy is appreciated,” replied Odin.

 

“Do you wish to hold Fríða?” Thor asked. “I imagine it will be a small comfort, but she loves her grandfather dearly. I fear that she may be a little restless, for it is so close to her feeding, but she would likely welcome the chance to be held by you.”

 

“I thank you,” said Odin, “but no. The reasons that I have come to you are not to socialise or to share tales of those that we have lost, but to discuss recent rumours that have come to light from our Jotun prisoners. We have won the war, that much is true, but we have lost much in this battle . . . far more than is acceptable, more than is bearable . . . the Jotun blame our losses upon Loki Laufeyson.”

 

“I have heard such rumours, Father. The emissary upon Jotunheim spoke them to me so that I would become disheartened and distracted, but the truth is that they seek to hurt us in any way that they can. I know that Loki is innocent.”

 

“Do you know this for a fact?”

 

Thor knew that this would be his chance to speak the truth, for as a future king it was his responsibility and duty to make his realm his priority, and yet when he looked to Loki he could not help but see the one that bore his child. It was true that Loki had done wrong, but his motivations had not been of ill-intent and his husband would not be able to grow if imprisoned . . . he would simply mourn the separation from his daughter and resent those that locked him away, as he would see it as confirmation of his worst fears. Thor could not do that to him. He wanted Loki to learn and to grow.

 

“Aye, I do,” said Thor. “Loki had no part in this.”

 

“Very well,” replied Odin. “We shall discuss this in full later.”

 

Odin appeared somewhat sceptical. The look that he gave to Loki was sharp and unyielding, as if he sought to see the truth inside those green eyes, and the longer he looked the more that Thor feared he would realise that they had lied. There would be no way to prove that his husband had betrayed them, just as there was no way to know that Thor had lied to his father, but the primal fear that he might lose Loki – that the lie would be uncovered and he would be imprisoned – was too much to bear. It was then that Odin looked away and nodded in acknowledgement.

 

“It seems then that your husband is a hero,” Odin continued. “There is a need to look into the matter, but if you are correct – if Loki should be innocent of these claims – then it will be only right to announce Loki as your equal and allow him those powers denied to him. He shall retain his power of illusion. It may also be time to discuss your coronation, but for now we must mourn . . . the time for celebration is later.”

 

“I do not deserve the crown, Father. I simply fought as per my duty to my realm, just as Loki did what he thought to be right . . . I would gladly accept the crown when the time is right, for it is my responsibility, but I fear the decision to be premature.”

 

“That is – perhaps – why you most suited to rule.”

 

“Father?”

 

Odin simply gave a sad smile. He appeared to have seen something within Thor that even the blond man himself could not, and – whatever it was he saw – he seemed proud of Thor and seemed almost pleased with what the younger man had said. It seemed strange to see a shred of happiness upon his countenance, not least when the world around them felt so cold and dark, and yet that brief moment of pride gave Thor a feeling of strength. He admired his father’s ability to hold strong.

 

He looked to Loki and saw that his husband wore an almost suspicious expression, and it was then that he realised that the younger man was irritated that Thor had denied what had been practically handed to him. It seemed to be an irritation borne partially out of self-interest, but also partially out of a genuine need to see Thor succeed and improve himself, and it was almost a relief to see that his husband at least felt something for someone other than himself. He had doubted Loki after hearing his confession, for he did not know what to think of a man that would risk the lives of so many people, but it seemed – he hoped – that it was a genuine mistake on Loki’s part, and that he could still be redeemed.

 

Loki looked to Odin and the two seemed to share a look that was difficult indeed for Thor to decipher, and he could only hope that the two were not trying to analyse each other – to see just what the other knew and how far that they could push – for he did not wish for further conflict at a time so filled with pain. It was then that Odin seemed to resign him to the situation at hand, as if he admitted defeat and knew that there could be no proof that Loki had done as the Jotun claimed. He simply looked away to Thor and seemed to accept that his son had sided with Loki.

 

“I will speak with you both later,” said Odin. “There is much to be done and I cannot bear to leave my queen alone, even if she will not notice my presence . . . it also seems that the Warriors Three have returned. I must take audience with them. Farewell for now, Thor, may your recoveries be speedy and well.”

 

“Farewell, Father. I thank you for your kindness.”

 

Odin gave a nod of acknowledgement to both men, before he cast one long and last look to his granddaughter before him. It made Thor wonder what he saw in the youngest member of their family, just as he wondered how he would endure the grief that faced him, and yet before he could think any further it seemed that his father had turned his back and walked away. He left them alone. Thor lowered his head and tried to gather his thoughts, but it was then that Loki broke the silence.

 

“I know not what to say, Thor,” admitted Loki.

 

“Say nothing. Say you love me.”

 

Loki gave a smile, one that seemed far more sincere than Thor could remember seeing in the longest time, and for a moment he feared that his husband would lie, that perhaps Loki had believed that he had won and – as such – would say whatever he needed to retain his freedom. The one thing that reassured him was that Loki appeared to genuinely speak from the heart, especially so by the way he looked to Thor and seemed to hold their daughter so gently and perfectly. Thor smiled in return. He felt more like a family – with daughter and husband – than he had in the entirety of their marriage to date. He felt complete.

 

“That is not nothing,” said Loki. “It is everything. _I love you_.”

 

“I wish I could believe you, Loki.”

 

“I wish that you could, too.”

 

Thor saw the sadness in his husband’s eyes; he almost found himself believing Loki in that moment, but he knew that it would be a very long time – if at all – before he could trust the other man again. He longed for Frigga almost instantly, for she alone was able to offer invaluable advice that always put things into perspective. It was almost as if he could hear her voice, however, her voice told him to forgive Loki and not to reject him at his most vulnerable.

 

He tried to find strength to repair his relationship with Loki, so that the other would not feel rejected and push him away entirely, and yet he felt a pang of anger that it was up to him to make this first move, for it was Loki that had betrayed him away and hurt him so deeply. Thor turned his head to give a reluctant kiss to Loki, but before he could the younger man had shot out a hand to grasp upon Thor’s. It was then he spoke three – barely audible – words to Thor: _I am sorry_. Thor felt an overwhelming sense of emotion as he raised that hand to his lips and placed a chaste kiss upon the other’s pale skin. He hated that Loki could make him feel such feelings.

 

“I should not love you,” said Thor, “but I do. _I do_. I love you, Loki.”

 

“You say that as if it is a curse to love me.”

 

“It is, but I will always love you.”

 

 


	33. Epilogue

 

# Epilogue

 

_Beautiful._

There was simply no other word. It felt vain for Thor to admit such thoughts aloud, for his daughter shared many qualities of both parents, and yet he could not help but smile each time that he saw her play or fight or rest. He feared that he would have to fight away many a suitor when she grew older, especially a certain friend of hers that followed her almost like a shadow. Fríða was as popular as Thor had been, but with a sharp and keen intellect of Loki, and he predicted much trouble in the future.

 

Fríða stood just higher than his waist, at an age that Loki insisted was one of the easiest to control and one the most well-behaved, and yet it seemed that his daughter spent all of her time ‘exploring’ the palace. It was only a few days ago that she had broken into the weapons vault, whilst a few weeks before she had attempted to leave the palace to visit the market alone, and so every waking moment seemed to be spent watching her and chastising her. Thor had never given much thought to the trials that his parents must have faced whilst growing up, but – now that he was a father to an energetic and adventurous child – he developed a vast appreciation for his parents.

 

He smiled as he watched Fríða throw a slightly younger boy to the ground. The young child had hair as black as Lady Sif’s and eyes a familiar shade, and looked up to Fríða with a rather childish pout. Thor felt proud that his daughter had studied and practised so well in her swordsmanship, even more so in hand-to-hand combat, and it seemed that she would make a fine warrior indeed, especially so given that her skill for magic was almost non-existent. The other children nearby appeared to cheer for her. He tried not to intervene as she began to boast about her victory.

 

“Like father like daughter, it seems,” said Loki.

 

Thor did not respond as Loki sat beside him. He simply continued to look into the garden and watched as the five children practised what they had learned, with their wooden swords in hand and smiles on their faces. The day felt somewhat cold, with the air bitter and harsh, and yet the young faces did not appear to notice in the slightest and continued oblivious to the changing weather. Thor stretched his legs out onto the grass and held tightly upon the edge of the stone bench.

 

It felt as if the atmosphere had run tense, for – as much as he loved Loki and appreciated his company – he knew full well what the other would say to him, and he did not wish for conflict when things had been so well of late. He could practically feel the frustration from Loki, who had sat quietly and coldly beside him. The younger man sat in his usual pose; his legs were apart and his pose casual, whilst his hands he placed behind him to enable him to lean back, and – although he kept his head high – he looked only at their daughter. Thor hoped that his daughter did not look their way, for she already imitated the way Loki sat and it hardly seemed appropriate for a young princess. He hoped that it was just a phase.

 

“You do not chastise her for her arrogance?”

 

“Before her friends?” Thor asked. “It would humiliate her.”

 

“Indeed, which would make the lesson that much more memorable.”

 

Thor clasped his hands upon his lap. He looked down with a smile and tried to hold his tongue, for there was a great part of him that wished to point out that Loki’s parenting style veered dangerously close to Odin’s. There was little fear of his husband repeating the same mistakes, for Loki made sure to teach Fríða daily and to tell her of his love nightly, but he worried that his husband was sometimes too strict and too cold for Fríða’s good. He did not wish for her to have a favourite father.

 

“I sometimes fear that we did not discuss enough raising a child,” said Thor. “It feels that our approaches are too different, and that would have been resolved with discussion. I do not wish for Fríða to be raised as we once were.”

 

“You fear that she will cling to you more than to me,” said Loki. “Does that fear extend to future children? Do you envision that our next shall favour me and the two siblings will endure a split? This is not something that I wish for either, but I know not how to resolve it . . . short of a third child to act as a mediator between the first two, but – with our luck – all three would war against each other.”

 

“I know that you love Fríða more than life itself. I thought that we could talk about how to proceed from this point, make some changes, and perhaps you could take her on her first hunt. You would have time to bond.”

 

“You know that I dislike hunting. My condition may not allow it . . .”

 

“Your condition?”

 

Loki placed a hand upon his stomach. The way that he leaned back – and the slight arch to his back – made it seem as if there was a swelling to that area, as if perhaps he had already found himself with child. They had taken such precautions in their nightly activities so that it seemed unlikely Loki would have fallen with child, especially so when they had not yet decided upon whether to have more children and how, with Thor favouring the idea of adoption rather than for Loki to suffer once more.

 

There was an initial feeling of surprise and excitement, as Thor thought about how his daughter would no longer be an only child. The idea that he would have another to share his love with made his smile grow immensely, whilst the knowledge that Fríða would be forced to mature was also a great relief; she would no longer be spoiled so significantly, but she would also have a younger sibling to protect and guide in their life, and such things could only prove a great benefit to her. It was then that he caught the mischievous look in his husband’s green eyes, just as he realised that the tone had been far too light and mocking, meant as an obvious jest, misinterpreted as it was.

 

He hoped that Loki had not noticed the momentary look of longing in his eyes, for the idea of discussing more children – what they both wished for and expected from their future – would be an awkward one indeed. Loki withdrew his hand awkwardly and seemed to at least have the decency to look uncomfortable, whilst his smile straightened into a thin line and his eyes trained upon Fríða as if internally debating whether a sibling for her would be a good idea after all. It was Thor that broke the ensuing silence with a cold and serious question.

 

“Why do you jest about such things?”

 

“It would be the perfect end to our story, would it not?” Loki smirked and turned to look upon his husband. “I believe that your friends expected us to have several children by now. They believed that we would be a perfect family and trust each other completely, whilst our realm at large already appears to think that we are the perfect couple. How is it that we can be so happy together and yet so discontented?”

 

“The happiness stems from love, but our discontentment from a lack of trust.”

 

“Is that lack of trust the reason why you refused the throne?”

 

Thor had expected that question. He frowned at the words of Loki, for it was difficult to endure the same conversation over and over again from both his father and his husband. It was true that Loki had readily accepted the throne when Frigga had offered it to him, although that was many years ago now, and true that – of the two – Thor had proven himself to be a far better candidate to rule, and yet Thor knew himself to not yet be ready to hold such control over his people.

 

The truth was that the title of ‘king consort’ would afford Loki too many powers, and – whilst he had recently proved himself to be trustworthy and responsible – it felt too soon to judge his husband’s future actions by a few simple years. Thor could not deny that his father perhaps had not long left of his reign, that soon they would have another loss to grieve and a burden to bear, but it felt irresponsible to hasten such a responsibility before it became absolutely necessary. Odin had chastised Thor for shirking his duties, even going so far as to wish that Fríða would act as he did so that he would learn the pain that he brought to his father. Thor had only smiled and said that he would be proud should Fríða refuse the crown as he did.

 

“Loki, I love you dearly, but –”

 

“You cannot trust me.”

 

Those were difficult words to hear, but they were difficult solely for the truth that was held within them. It had been difficult to rebuild his relationship with Loki, as every moment that his husband had been alone had been a cause for suspicion, and – although he would never admit it to Loki – he had found himself resentful of his husband for the longest of time. He would admit that Loki had changed, but it was still difficult to trust him completely. It was a risk he could not yet take.

 

“Mother is dead,” said Thor. “I know that her death was not your intent, but the fact remains that she is no longer in our lives. Do not think that I mean to hurt you or to make you feel guilt; I know this to not be your fault alone, but the duty of ruling a realm is a great one. I cannot accept such a responsibility until I know us _both_ to be completely ready, and so – until that day – I must decline.”

 

“I have fought by your side, I have shown kindness to your son, and I have spent my every waking moment tending to Fríða and striving to make amends for the war! I have run tasks for the Allfather as if I were nothing more than an errand-boy or mere agent, all to prove my worth! Tell me, what more can I do?”

 

“You are doing all that you can. That is all that I ask.”

 

“Then why do you not accept?”

 

Thor looked to Loki. It seemed that his husband had changed a lot in recent years, so that his hair was now longer than it had ever been, enough that it often proved to be a nuisance for him in battle. Thor – in turn – had many changes of his own, such as the hair that had been cut short due to the blood and gore that had been worked into his locks during battle, and he had kept it that way despite ample opportunity to grow it out into the way it had been. He wondered if they both strove to assert their individuality in whatever small way that they could, but such changes to their bodies did little to change their hearts. He knew Loki too well.

 

“You would not respect me,” said Thor, “should I trust you.”

 

“That is why I worry, Thor. I worry that Fríða will sense our lack of faith in one another, and that she will grow – as such – to believe that these relationships are the norm. I do not wish for her to settle for anything less than perfect. I love you dearly, more than I wish to admit, and I wish that Fríða could see that and know that what a relationship of equals should be. Fríða is my reason for life; I can not see her hurt.”

 

“There is no need to worry on Fríða’s behalf. She sees the way that you look at me, just as she hears the words I speak to you, and she knows that our love for one another is sincere and unconditional. I speak truly when I say that she spoke warmly just the other day, and that she hoped to find someone that would make her even half as happy as we make each other. She said that we remind her of the children’s stories that you and my father tell, of people who have endured much and yet are brought together by love and by fate. She seems a romantic at heart.”

 

“I would be nauseous from such sentimentality,” Loki snapped cynically, “were those words spoken from the lips of any other babe than mine. My sole relief stems from her wish to be a true warrior; love seems to be quite low on her priorities, for – like her father – she seems to live for the thrill of a fight. She will be strong.”

 

“You mean to imply that love would make her weak?”

 

“Not love itself, but the _search_ for love, perhaps.”

 

It was difficult to admit, but he knew that Loki was right. Their love for one another had made them stronger, for they had fought to become better people and strove to become stronger men, and together they had been victorious in many wars and won in many battles. They had not searched for their love, for their love had simply found them. It had appeared naturally under unfortunate circumstances, so that they had slowly grown to know one another and cling to one another. It was not forced.

 

Thor had searched for love in the past. He had believed in it as much as he had believed in the tales told by his father, or the advice that his mother had given, and he had believed in feelings akin to love – both crushes and admiration – that had led only to heartache and the pains of separation. He could remember the words of his mother spoken long before she died, about the worst pain being from those ‘in love with the idea of love’. It was true that he felt relieved that his daughter seemed disinterested in the notion, but he also knew what strength love could bring when found, and a part of him – unlike Loki – hoped that his daughter’s indifference was simply due to her young age and that her feelings would change in time. She deserved happiness.

 

The two men sat in silence for a moment, whilst Thor collected his thoughts. He feared that their ideas and beliefs were too different, but – at the same time – there was truth to the fact that they complemented one another well, for what one parent could not provide the other could. They both adored their daughter and loved her unconditionally, which Fríða realised, and yet there were times when Thor worried that she would sense the conflict of her parents, much as Loki had sensed the division of Odin and Frigga as he grew up. He would not repeat the mistakes of his parents.

 

Fríða had begun to fight with the younger boy again, whilst her three other friends split up to talk amongst themselves, and Thor was relieved to see her actually strive to teach him this time, so that he imitated her movements and listened to her words. He wondered if she perhaps did so selfishly out of want of a better sparring partner, or whether she did so out of a genuine need to see him succeed, but – regardless of her motivation – she taught him with a patience that reminded Thor much of his mother. It seemed that his daughter had that same innate grace and serenity, whilst she also had a few physical features shared with her grandmother, and he felt great love at seeing that his mother had lived on in her own way.

 

“I wish that Mother could see her,” said Thor.

 

“Do you?” Loki asked. “I do not think that she would have much in common with Fríða. I would likely find myself sitting on the sidelines, Mother beside me discussing how wonderful a daughter I had, whilst you and Odin taught her to fight. It worries me that Fríða seems to lack the passion and talent for magic, for the power of illusion would be invaluable to her . . . perhaps our next child will gain what she lacks.”

 

“You talk already of our next child? Tell me, did you jest so about being with child to test my reaction? You have not changed at all. I am lucky that your manipulations have ceased to go further than what they once would, but that you would still test me is a great insult. What would Mother say should she see our lack of trust?”

 

“Well, she would not be surprised.”

 

Thor tried not to laugh. It seemed that – after all that they had endured – his husband had retained his humour and his sarcastic nature, and he could see the slight smile upon Loki’s lips that indicated that he meant to tease Thor and not to insult him. These were the moments that Thor cherished above all others, because they reminded him that he had never truly lost Loki, for the younger man had always been by his side and had always been this way, and he knew his husband would never change.

 

There had been a time – long ago when their relationship first began – that he had sought to change his husband; he had wanted for a brief time to regain the brother that he had once lost and forget their hardships, and later he had striven to find Loki his redemption and help him to become a better person. It had perhaps been their biggest source of conflict. Thor knew now that Loki could not be changed, and that the only resolution would be to accept him as the man that he was and simply work around that instead of trying to change it. He would perhaps be able to trust his husband in time, although he had to accept the fact that may never be able to fully trust him again, but Loki had proven that he could be trusted to an extent in the aftermath of the war. That was enough for the moment, even if it was a source of frustration.

 

“You must accept the throne at some point,” said Loki.

 

Thor looked back across the garden to his daughter, where it seemed that – this time – she had met her defeat at the hand of another girl. He knew not the details about the other child, save for the fact that she came from a family famed for their line of blacksmiths, and he remembered well the criticism of both his father and his husband for allowing his daughter to play with one of low status. It seemed that this other girl had great skill and strength, enough to prove a priceless ally and rival to his daughter, and he hoped that they would inspire each other to become stronger.

 

“Aye,” replied Thor, “but we have not yet reached that point.”

 

“It is strange to me that you feel ready for another child, but not yet ready for the responsibility of ruling our realm. The latter you were raised to assume, whilst the former is a level of responsibility far higher than the one that you refuse.”

 

“My father is not a well man. It is only a matter of time before the inevitable falls.”

 

“Perhaps so, but at this rate Fríða will assume the throne before you do.”

 

“You say that as if it would be a bad thing.”

 

Loki rolled his eyes and looked to Thor. It seemed that his gaze was a little intense, as if he sought to convey the severity of the situation through sight alone, and yet as he looked it seemed that there was a genuine flicker of worry in his green eyes. There was the small hope that he sought for Thor to ascend simply as it would be best for the older man and for their realm, but he could not help but hold a small fear that his husband spoke out of a selfish need to attain more power.

 

“The only bad thing,” said Loki, “is to be in love with one so short-sighted.”

 

Thor laughed loudly and cast a quick look to his daughter, just to make sure that she was still okay and did not need any assistance. Loki’s words stayed in his mind as he watched her, enough to make him smile distractedly, but it seemed that Fríða was fine and enjoying herself. It was just his daughter and the younger boy, as the three other friends had left to return home. The two talked quietly together.

 

“It is not often that you admit your love for me,” said Thor.

 

“I love you, Husband. I love you dearly. That is why it frustrates me to see you refuse what is so rightly yours, especially so when only you can reform Asgard and make it a realm of which to be proud! I wish for nothing more than to make this a realm fit for Fríða to live; I wish that her status as a woman will not make respect harder to win, just as I wish that any future children will not be mocked for using magic in battle. You can make this a better realm.”

 

“It is easy to believe in the best of you,” replied Thor, “when you speak such words. I wish that I could believe this to be your true motive for instigating the war, that you only claimed such selfishness to maintain your image, but it would be foolish to do so. I cannot underestimate you, Loki. I love you too much to disrespect you, just as I respect myself too much to do likewise.”

 

“Ah, so finally you return my earlier affections. I wondered if you would.”

 

“I will always return your affections. You know that.”

 

“Then tell me again, Thor.”

 

He caught the way that Loki sat straighter, as his hands came from behind him and instead came to rest beside him. It was a highly subtle gesture, one that he may have otherwise missed, but he could feel the incredibly light touch of those fingertips against his thigh. It felt as if Loki were searching for him, as if Loki sought for some form of comfort and security, and Thor could not help but to reach out and take his husband’s hand firmly in his, even as the younger man mocked irritation and gave a feeble attempt at pulling his hand away. There was a light blush on Loki’s cheeks, but he merely turned his hand around to clasp back at Thor’s in turn.

 

Loki still seemed uncomfortable with displays of affection, at least outside of their private quarters, and Thor had been on the receiving end of a fair few spells and pranks whenever he dared to show affection in public. He had heard many times that his husband was too cold and often unloving, but his friends did not see the side of Loki that he did in private, just as they did not see the moments like these when Loki was simply content to sit beside him with a gentle touch.

 

Thor looked to Loki and held back a smile. He was grateful that they were alone in the garden, just as he was grateful that his daughter and the son of his friend were too distracted with their sparring to notice them, and he allowed himself to enjoy the moment of intimacy for what it was. Loki merely kept his gaze straight ahead, so as to apparently avoid his husband’s gaze and the embarrassment that would come with it, and so Thor found himself looking upon the other’s natural expression, as Loki remained somewhat oblivious to the intense gaze cast upon him.

 

“I love you, Loki,” he said.

 

“Will you love our next child as much as the first?”

 

“I will certainly love trying for them,” Thor teased. “That, I shall not deny.”

 

Loki snapped his head to one side. The look that he gave to Thor was rather venomous, although he refrained from pulling away his hand and allowed Thor to continue to hold him. It was difficult to force back his smile when he saw Loki so annoyed, for he knew that any laughter or smiles would only incite his husband into fury, and so he waited for Loki to speak first and held his tongue. Loki rolled his eyes and looked back to their daughter as she laughed with her friend.

 

“You are _far_ from romantic,” Loki snapped.

 

“Aye, indeed, but when have we ever been romantic?”

 

This time it seemed that Loki smiled. The younger man shook his head and refused to look at Thor, but it was difficult to ignore the way that his husband seemed to take genuine amusement in such a simple statement. No one could deny that the two men were far from romantic, but nor could they deny the love that they held for one another. Thor still felt frustrated with his husband’s machinations, but he loved Loki unconditionally. He loved him.

 

“You are lucky I love you,” Loki teased. “No one else would.”

 

“Lucky, indeed. I love you, too.”

 

 


End file.
